


After the After

by deathtodickens



Series: Unscenes: A Canon-ish Fix [4]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtodickens/pseuds/deathtodickens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place between 4x02 "An Evil Within" and 4x08 "Second Chance" and will be a multi-chapter tale that jumps between Helena's and Myka's experiences whilst apart from each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Helena: Arrived

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly these characters are not mine. I'm just doing with them whatever I please. If there are inaccuracies, I am afraid I cannot apologize for that, but hopefully they don't ruin the entire experience.

"Welcome back, Ms. Wells."  
  
Helena is startled by the familiar voice of the older Black woman who is sitting beside her.  Helena turns to her with eyes burning red and wet with tears.  Helena blinks several times to rid herself of the sting, to see the other woman more clearly in the low light of the limousine she’s just found herself in.  
  
She inhales and then she exhales and then she inhales again, holding onto the breath long enough to allow her mind to focus on something more than just breathing.  She reaches a hand to the swell of her lips and feels the lingering warmth from Myka Bering’s kiss.  
  
Myka had finally kissed her, and she tries hard to remember why.  
  
She had been expecting it inside the warehouse, after Sykes’ death, when Myka had pulled her away and into some secluded aisle of artifacts.  So Helena now wonders why she’s locked into Mrs. Frederic’s limousine, with no memory of how she got there, having just watched the woman she loves disappear into a cloud of dust in front of Leena’s Bed & Breakfast.    
  
"What just happened?"  
  
Another tear follows a trail of moisture down her cheek.  
  
Irene Frederic watches her for a moment in silence.  Helena begins to wonder if she was subdued in the warehouse after the job of saving the world had been completed.  She wonders if Myka, beautifully dutiful and hard-working and by-the-book Myka, had aided in subduing her.  Kissed her into oblivion.  
  
Helena wants to laugh at that thought, but more than anything, she wants to cry.  
  
"What is the last thing you remember, Ms. Wells?"  
  
Myka’s gorgeously quirky lips against her own is her last somewhat coherent thought, if she’s being entirely honest.  
  
Helena takes a deep breath and pulls the warehouse into her mind.  
  
"Arthur defused the bomb."  She starts there because it’s easiest and less intimate.  "Somehow he knew."  
  
"He knew?"  The other woman questions.  
  
Now Helena is thinking of all the unanswered questions.  “He knew exactly where the bomb was, he knew which artifact to use to defuse it, and he knew Peter was going to throw Sykes into the portal.  It was as though he had already seen it.  Like he’d been,” she pauses and shakes her head disbelieving, “to the future.”    
  
"I have had my own suspicions."  
  
Helena hesitates before vocalizing her next thought.  “Mrs. Frederic, I happen to know a thing or two about time travel but even with all that I know, I have never been able to change a timeline.”    
  
Helena’s mind wanders too far, now.  She immediately reaches up for her locket, only suddenly remembering that she had left it behind in China for Pete and Myka to find.  She prays they found it.  She would fly all the way back to China just to retrieve it.  
  
She expects to touch only the flushed skin of her own chest, but her breath hitches when her fingers catch hold to something familiar.  It’s her old locket.  Well, her _older_ locket, she rethinks, because everything Helena owns is old.  It's the locket she retrieved from London before she tried to _cure_ the world, as she likes to refer to it now.  
  
Her things, she thought, would have surely been lost to the warehouse furnace after those events.  
  
"Myka."    
  
The name escapes her so effortlessly.  It gives away their familiarity with each other.  Myka must have saved some of her things before Artie could torch them.  
  
"Is that the last thing you remember?"    
  
Helena startles again, having forgotten where she is, exactly.  
  
"Where are we going?"  Helena wants answers before she gives answers.  She doesn’t suspect Mrs. Frederic will lead her to harm, but she doesn’t exactly trust the people she answers to.  
  
"To see the Regents."    
  
"Why?"  
  
"We had this discussion yesterday afternoon."  Mrs. Frederic narrows her eyes at Helena now, examining her over black eyeglass frames.  
  
"I don’t remember that."  Helena’s brows wrinkle.  
  
"What do you remember?"  
  
"We were walking back to Arthur’s office."  
  
"Who was walking with you?"  Mrs. Frederic shows only a hint of impatience with Helena’s hesitancy.  
  
"Peter, Arthur, Myka, and I."  Helena sighs. "Peter and Arthur walked ahead, Myka pulled me aside and…"  
  
Mrs. Frederic’s brows rise curiously as an involuntary blush creeps across Helena’s cheeks.    
  
"Ms. Wells, you cannot possibly be embarrassed to talk to me about your relationship with Agent Bering after the display I just witnessed."  
  
"She pulled me into another aisle and I’m almost somewhat partially certain she was about to… kiss me."  Helena takes a deep breath before she says that last part.  She doesn’t know why.  "And then she _was_ kissing me.  Here, in the car.”  
  
"I happened upon the two of you at the warehouse shortly after that."  Helena notices that Mrs. Frederic is showing visible signs of concern now.  
  
"Did the Regents ask her to do this?  Did she, I don’t know, incapacitate me somehow?"  
  
The look Mrs. Frederic gives Helena is actually incredulous, and Helena feels sick to her stomach at the accusation she’s just made against Myka.  She re-thinks that thought and deduces that if Myka had incapacitated her, in order to hand her over to the Regents, then it was probably for her own safety.  
  
"I can promise you that any incapacitated state Agent Bering might have kept you in was entirely voluntary on your part."  
  
That doesn’t cheer Helena up, it just evokes memories of the day she volunteered to be bronzed.  Then it reminds her that she’s missing an entire night’s worth of memories that were apparently spent being incapacitated by Myka Bering.  
  
What if she had blacked out and done some terrible thing to Myka?  Maybe she had accidentally touched an amnesia artifact when Myka had pushed her against the support beam in some random aisle of the warehouse.    
  
"You know what this is, Ms. Wells."  It’s not a question or an accusation.  Irene Frederic is simply stating facts.  Helena knows what this is.  It was the obvious thing that she was refusing to acknowledge because the implications were actually far more frightening than the idea of Myka turning her over to the Regents.  
  
"How long ago did you see us?"  She regrets asking before she even finishes asking.  
  
"Just under twenty-three hours."  
  
Helena sighs.  Her sigh is heavy with the weight of confirmation.  She leans her head forward, between her legs, because she’s sure she’s going to be sick, and runs both hands through the length of her hair.  
  
"Someone used my time machine."  
  
The emotions that actually come to her are anger and sadness and a great deal if disbelief.  She’s angry at herself for creating the device, sad that she’s missing twenty-two hours and nineteen minutes of time, apparently, spent with Myka.  Doesn’t believe it’s actually happened.  Angry at the idea of someone in the future jumping back in time to occupy her body.  Sad at the realization that she’s exposed Myka to the frivolous nature of an anonymous time traveler.  Doesn’t believe there won’t be consequences.  
  
"It could have been anyone."  A new horror is fresh on Helena’s mind, now.  The thought of someone else, anyone else, even her future self, stealing away time with the woman she loved, time that she had waited so long to have, devastates her.  
  
"I’m almost certain that person was you."  Mrs. Frederic speaks up.  
  
"How can you be absolutely certain?"  Helena asks sitting to face Mrs. Frederic now.  
  
"There’s little doubt in my mind that it was not you, Helena."  
  
Mrs. Frederic’s use of her name is not lost on her.  She sees it as the caretaker’s way of trying to connect with her, to make it clear that her observations are more than just a wild guess.  But Helena also sees the reality in Mrs. Frederic’s attempts to sedate her wild thoughts and any potential rage that might come along with them.   
  
As if to defuse her like Sykes' bomb.  
  
"You don’t know it was me."  Tears are burning Helena’s eyes again.  "No one could possibly be so sure.  Not even you, Irene."  
  
"Listen to me, Wells, and don’t let me have to repeat myself."  The authority that the other woman uses now sends chills down Helena’s spine.  "Arthur has become very insistent that you are a changed woman, that you would put your life on the line for the safety of the warehouse.  Because of this, and the premature end to your previous sentence, the Regents are gathering to decide your fate, to reassess the threat that you may or may not pose to yourself, the warehouse, its agents, and to society on the whole.  That is where we are headed right now."  
  
Helena bites back all of the questions that are now begging to be answered.    
  
Some of the questions are the same unanswered questions from the warehouse.  Some are born from the knowledge that she was now traveling through the dusty back roads of South Dakota to be met with some new and humiliating fate assigned to her by the Regents.  The biggest question on her mind right now, who had jumped time to invade her body, was the most impossible one to answer because all she could do with that was wait.  
  
The only way she would know is to wait for it to happen, and she was, at the very least, confident that it would be a while, considering the non-working state that her time machine was currently in.  
  
"The slightest indication that you are emotionally compromised is not going to play well in your favor."  Helena is suddenly brought back to the present by Mrs. Frederic’s veiled instructions to feign her own content.  
  
"I’m at a point in my life now where I can’t help wondering if I’m better off being imprisoned."  
  
"And that’s the kind of talk that is going to _get_ you imprisoned.”  
  
Helena is shaking her head and wiping tears from her face.  “I leave a lot of damage in my wake.  I can’t even love someone without losing them or constantly putting them in harms way.  And the worst of everything, of all of this, is that I don’t even have control over my own life anymore, hell, I don’t even have control over my own body!  Suddenly, I am a product of the warehouse, just another tragic artifact that needs to be drowned in purple goo and discarded on a shelf somewhere to collect dust.  And why?”    
  
Helena knows this is the exact opposite of what Mrs. Frederic has told her to do in order to prove herself even a fraction of a changed woman.  She doesn’t care.  She can only feel how she feels and right now she feels a little undone.  
  
"Because, like any other little thing in the warehouse, I’m unpredictable and there’s always _always_ some unforeseen downside for anyone who interacts with me."    
  
Helena is done.  In more ways than one.  
  
She waits for the reprimand but it never comes.  Mrs. Frederic only watches her with her trademark look and allows her the tears that fall.  Minutes pass before the vehicle comes to a stop and the older woman finally speaks.  
  
"I hope you’ve gotten that all out of your system, because we’ve arrived."  Helena glances out the window to see that they are parked in front of an ordinary diner.  She wipes away her tears and takes in a deep breath.  "You _can_ have the control over your life back, Ms. Wells.  Or not, that’s your decision."  
  
"Maybe I don’t need control."  It’s the point she’s been trying to make.  
  
"You should reconsider."  
  
"Why?  It’s _my_ decision."  She doesn’t turn her gaze away from the diner, which appears full to capacity despite the near empty parking lot.  
  
"Agent Bering has demanded your happiness against the threat of leaving the warehouse permanently."  This catches Helena’s full attention, she turns to the other woman with what she’s sure is a pained expression, though it’s meant to be challenging.  
  
"She did no such thing."    
  
"Regardless of whether you believe me or not, I would really like to keep her at the warehouse.  Considering how good she is at what she does."  Mrs. Frederic is not even the slightest bit deterred by Helena’s disbelief.  
  
"You can’t _actually_ guilt trip me into being emotionally stable."  Not sure if she means it or says it in jest, Helena puffs out a small laugh at the end of this statement.  In either scenario, serious or lighthearted, it is a comical expectation.  
  
"Having you available for all of your ingenious and expertise would be an added bonus, Helena."  
  
"Sweet talk doesn’t work on me either."  She is attempting a joke.  "Unless your name happens to be Myka."  She takes note of the distinct lack of amusement on Mrs. Frederic’s expressionless features.  "I didn’t think so."  
  
Helena resigns herself to at least facing the Regents because she’d like to get this over with as soon as humanly possible.  Also, she doesn't appear to have a choice in that matter.  
  
Maybe she should at least _try_ to see Myka again, _talk_ to her, figure out what happened.  Shouldn’t she?  But then she thinks better of it because she’d only be exposing her to more time traveling seductresses, or seducers, whatever the case may be.  
  
And she’s fairly certain, just by the familiarity of particularly stressed muscles, fatigue, ultra-cleanliness, and the new attire, that the motive of her time traveling body snatcher was indeed to seduce.  
  
How had they found the time anyway?  Time was one of those things that, ironically, always escaped the time traveler.  There was never enough of it and it was fitting that she had missed over twenty hours of it, but how had they found the time to begin with?  
  
Instinct draws her eyes to Mrs. Frederic then and the question answers itself.  
  
"Why are you always silently rooting for us?"  
  
Helena’s curiosity is genuine, which surprises even herself.  Mrs. Frederic has, on more than one occasion, brought her back from the brink of isolation by bringing her back to or giving her more time with Myka.    
  
"Why are you always questioning it?"  Is what Mrs. Frederic poses in response, and it’s only in this moment that she realizes it’s probably more for Myka and the warehouse, that the caretaker does these things, than it is for her.  It is her duty, after all.  
  
"Righty-ho."  Helena wipes the remaining moisture from her eyes, takes in several deep breaths, fingers the newly acquired antique locket around her neck, and recalls the kiss she narrowly missed at the hands of some miscreant time traveler.  She smiles at the memory, and the smile is real and honest and the Regents can take it or they can kiss her pale white Victorian ass.    
  
She looks at Mrs. Frederic and nods.    
  
"For Myka."  
  
And then a thing happens that never happens and before Helena can be unnerved by it, she finds it reassuring and comforting, and it makes her hopeful and happy and optimistic all at once...  
  
Mrs. Frederic smiles.


	2. Myka: Still Reeling

"So, that escalated rather quickly."    
  
Pete is taking up space in Myka's bedroom doorway.  She silently scolds herself for giving so far into her exhaustion that she decided to forego securing the lock before collapsing onto her bed.    
  
It's not that she can't deal with just _Pete_ right now.  She can't deal with _anyone_ right now.  
  
She had kept herself together quite successfully the entire day, burying away the dread of returning to her bed that night, alone.    
  
She had done her job, drop-kicked another probably-misunderstood bad guy, and saved her partner's ass from an angry mob of axe-and-spear-wielding gym enthusiasts.  She even managed to keep her conversation light and pleasant the entire way home.  And the happiness she exuded at the sight of a pink-faced Steven Jinks, alive and well and returned to his proper place in life, actual life itself, _that_ happiness was real. 

Even if it could only surface in the presence of her friends in that moment, it was at least genuine.    
  
Now she needed to retreat into her thoughts.  She needed to slow down, collect herself and finally process her feelings.  She needed just to _be_ and do that in her most sacred space, her very own bedroom.  It was sacred for its solitude, but only when she hadn't forgotten or neglected to close and lock her bedroom door behind her.   
  
"Yeah."  Myka's voice is partially muffled by the way she smothers her face into her pillow.  "I can't believe Steve is back."  
  
"Not _that_."  Pete arches a brow.   
  
Myka eyes him, examining the expectant look on his face.  She lifts herself up to her elbows and tilts her head in Pete's direction to better read his expression.   
  
"What then?"  Her voice challenges.    
  
Pete's hands are in the air in surrender as he steps further into Myka's room.  "From Emily to China to HG... and you.  Both of you.  Together."  Myka narrows her eyes at him, allowing her brows to furrow as Pete uses the pointer and middle fingers of both hands to mimic scissors and then thrusts the two together.  "Doing the _thang_."  
  
"Pete, I swear to God."  It sounds threatening, but she drops her face back into her pillow because now she's thinking about "the thang" she did and the woman she did "the thang" with, and the smell of that other woman that is now all over her pillows and bedsheets, and her face is hot and surely flushed.   
  
She makes sure to keep one eye on Pete as he moves further into her room, and toward her desk.  She can already see his hands itching to reach out and touch something, anything, everything.   
  
"And now she's gone, _again_."  He says it as a wooden puzzle atop Myka's desk seems to catch his eye.  He plucks the thing up and begins fingering its edges as he twists it around in his hands.   Myka wants to tell him not to touch her things, _that_ especially because Helena had just put the damn thing together, but she has always found such utterances to be completely useless in Pete's wake, so she remains quiet and watches.  

She's also rather reluctant to remove her nose away from her new Helena-scented pillow.  
  
It's not long before the wooden puzzle breaks under Pete's scrutiny.  Tiny, crooked wooden pieces fall over her desk and onto the floor, scattering beneath her desk and into corners she won't care to look into for weeks.    
  
Pete's face stills and in a last-ditch effort to rid himself of any evidence associated with this, his most recent crime against Myka's bordering-on-compulsive organization, he tosses the final piece over his shoulder and folds his arms together in front of him.   
  
Myka rolls her eyes.  "She's always gone."  She takes in a deep breath, her eyes roll at the scent, and she puffs out a small laugh.  "I'm used to it."  
  
She's not at all used to it, but at least she has the pillow.  
  
"True."  Pete's eyes fall to the floor at the foot of Myka's bed now and he bends to pick something up.  "Although, I think we can both agree that it's not always by her own choice."  Pete stands straight again and falls suspiciously quiet, looking over a folded piece of glossy paper.  
  
"And since when do you care about what choices Helena does or does not make?"  Myka does make an effort to move her mouth away from the pillow so that what she says comes across clearly.   
  
Pete flips the photo around in his fingers so that she can see the image of her and Helena from weeks ago.  "Since those choices started to effect the happiness and the well-being of my best friend.  Mykes.  So, like, since you two first met?"  
  
Now Myka looks away.  She doesn't have a response to his concerns.  Wasn't even really aware that he had them.  She thinks about a lot of Pete's dialogue around holographic Helena, how blatantly mean he was to her all of the time.  She had reasoned he was angry about Kelly and that reasoning had made his anger toward Helena only borderline tolerable.    
  
Now she thinks about that anger as if it were on her behalf and she realizes that this is probably how Helena viewed his anger from the very start.    
  
Her thoughts of Helena spiral.  She sees the looks that holographic Helena used to give her when Pete would go on his tirades.  Like silent pleas for Myka to come to her defense, but Myka did little of that, when it came to Pete, because she knew that he was, like he always is, stubborn about his anger.    
  
In his mind, and Myka knows this because they've talked about it, if you've managed to piss off Pete, the most lovable of all bears, then you must really deserve the mauling.    
  
"I know HG and I have rarely ever been on the same page."    
  
Myka laughs at that.  "Ya' think?"  
  
"But I sometimes think we need someone with a different perspective to come in and see where we are headed.  Just to pull us off of a certain path, because we can't see for ourselves that it's leading to nowhere."  
  
Myka sits up to face Pete now, her face is incredulous.  She's insulted at the idea that anything about Helena could translate into going nowhere.  Into being nothing.   
  
"And what exactly are you trying to say, Pete?  That Helena, or my feelings for Helena, are leading me to nowhere?  Am I wasting _your_ time with my childish engagements, Pete?  Because if we're going to talk about childish ways to waste someone's time..."  Myka waves her hand in front of her as if to prove a point by pointing out Pete's mere presence in her bedroom.   
  
"No, no, no, Mykes.  You're misunderstanding.  I mean, no, I'm just not explaining it right."  
  
They both sigh because _real_ fighting is not something they do much or are very good at.  Myka's sigh comes out more like an aggravated huff.  "Then what, Pete?"  
  
"I'm not necessarily saying to _nowhere_ but to somewhere we don't want to be.  Like a dark place."  Pete walks to Myka's desk and sets the photo up against a photo frame that sits there then turns back to Myka.  "When you and HG are together, you are the happiest I have ever seen you.  But then HG is gone and you're the saddest I've ever seen you.  And it's like you're _so_ happy when she _is_ here, that you don't see all the sadness that's about to come, so you just _engage_ further into her."  
  
"You're not making any sense, Pete."  
  
"God, I know, Mykes.  I'm just trying to,"  Pete clutches the air in front of him in frustration, "find the words."  He says the last part as if to command himself.  He balls his hands into fists, exasperated, walks to Myka's bedside, and plops down next to her.  
  
She instinctively pulls her pillow into a hug in front of her, creating a barrier of sorts between her and Pete.  She bends her knees in and leans her face into the pillow again and watches Pete, through bleary eyes, in his usual struggle for words.   
  
"Look, Mykes."  He takes in a deep breath.  Thinks for a long second.   Brings his eyes to hers.  Exhales.  Then he speaks slowly and that's more for himself than it is for Myka.  "Before now, I never _saw_ how happy HG made you.   And by that I mean, I just didn't realize that she was the source of all that happiness.  I only saw how badly she destroyed you when she turned into Psycho Devil Woman."  Myka cringes.  "When she took you away from us."  
  
"She didn't _take me away_ , Pete."  Myka wants to make this abundantly clear, too.  "I left.  _Me_ , Pete.  It was all me and it was because I am an adult and I made the decision to leave for my own mental health. I needed to leave and I needed that time away.  It was not wasted time.  It wasn't spent in vain and it was most certainly not about _me_ being away from _you_.  It was about _me_ needing to be away, period."  
  
Pete's nodding now.  "I know, I know.  I just..."  He sighs again, watches Myka quietly for a moment and shakes his head.  "What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry.  For the way I acted toward Helena because I thought I was acting on your behalf and I wasn't.  I thought I was being angry _for_ you because you never seemed angry enough.  I thought I was being a voice _for_ you, because you never said what I thought you wanted to say. 

"And the more I think about it _now_ , the more I realize you don't need anyone to speak for you or be angry on your behalf, and I should have spent more time offering to listen to you be angry for yourself."  
  
"Yeah, Pete."  Myka nods.  "I'm actually _really_ good at expressing my own anger."  Right then, she sits up and socks Pete in his arm.   
  
"Owah!"  He immediately grabs the spot to nurse the pain and Myka flashes him the most sarcastic smile she can conjure up to accompany the blow.   
  
"See?"  
  
"Jesus, woman.”  Now Myka’s smile is genuine.  Satisfied.    
  
"You, on the other hand, _really_ need to look up the word apology in the dictionary, because you're definitely doing it wrong."  She falls back onto her bed and into her pillow in the half-smothered state she was in when Pete first arrived.  The intoxicating aroma, acting as a sedative, calms her nerves.  
  
"I'm sorry!"  He says it with an exaggerated pained expression on his face.   
  
“Get out of my room, Pete.”  She moves her foot to where he still sits on the side of the bed, and slowly pushes him toward the edge.  
  
“All right, all right.”  Pete stands with hands in the air in surrender again.  “You may resume your regularly scheduled moping.”  He scrunches up his face and bows to her as though she is royalty, and turns to leave.  “Oh, and one more thing.”  He spins back around, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out what appears to be a set of keys.  “Peace offering.”  He jingles the keys and tosses them on the bed, near Myka.  
  
“Did you buy me a new car?”  She jokes.  
  
“Sure, why not?  I'm sure one of those goes to a car."  
  
Myka sits up on her elbow to better examine what she’s pretty sure is a stuffed cat attached to the set.  “Nice key chain, Lattimer.  I never took you for a cat person.”  
  
“I’m not a cat person, _Myka_.”  Pete says turning toward the bedroom door again.  “But I hear Emily Lake is.”  
  
“What?  Are those Emily’s…?”  But Pete is already out of the door.    
  
Myka picks up the set of keys and lays back into her pillow.    
  
There are six keys there and she can place the apartment key, the car key, and two other keys that are marked “LHS”, likely for the name of the high school where Emily taught.  There is a small key, probably for a filing cabinet or a lock box.  The sixth key is a mystery.  
  
Then there are the key chains.    
  
A sparkling mint-colored “E” that Myka rolls her eyes at, because it is so very much like Emily and so not at all like Helena.  And she’s laughing internally, thinking back to Helena’s attempt to draw parallels between herself and Emily Lake.  Myka had tried, on more than one occasion this day, to envision Emily Hannah Lake living in the late 1800s and combating the expectations and standards that were set before women in Helena’s time, eons before, and still even a century after.    
  
It's difficult to imagine at best.   
  
The other key chain is a small, stuffy grey cat.  It looks exactly like Dickens.  
  
“Oh, fuck.”  
  
Myka had forgotten about Dickens.  
  



	3. Helena: Acclimation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me too much.

Helena stands resolute in a foyer at the bottom of a grand walnut staircase in a Victorian-era brick home.  It is large and absurd and, apparently, home to a former warehouse agent-turned-Regent retiree who is almost as old as the thirteenth warehouse itself.  
  
It is here, the current Regents have decided, that Helena will spend her so-called probationary return to life as a civilian.  
  
  
  
 _Helena had almost grandstanded._  
  
 _Her meeting with the Regents had started out as a simple recap of the past year, particularly the assistance she provided to the current warehouse agents, but it had immediately begun to spiral into something more like a corrupt internal affairs investigation._  
  
 _She didn't exactly know what that was, but she had witnessed it on several of the television crime dramas she had seen with Claudia, and it sounded vaguely similar._  
  
 _The Regents had cited several occasions on which the globe she had been entrapped had been initiated.  Occasions that did not correlate with active cases and occasions that had not been documented in any of the agents' case reports._  
  
 _Helena had asked them, "Are you accusing me of having activated the damned contraption myself, absent any physical form, and gallivanting around town on my own accord?"  Because what other reason would they have to question her about something she was physically incapable of doing?_  
  
 _Another of the Regents, intending to elaborate, makes a somewhat veiled accusation against both Claudia, who she says is not even an agent of the warehouse so much as a stow-away technician, and Myka, for whom she has no descriptor, for using the globe purely for frivolity and to socialize with Helena._  
  
 _Helena baulked at that notion, but what she had actually wanted to do was jump clear across three tables of Regents and test her kenpō muscle memory out on the redhead who had the audacity to speak so poorly about her young friend._  
  
 _"What was the point of you giving the thing to the warehouse agents if you hadn't intended for me to socialize with them when they needed my assistance?"_  
  
 _"We didn't give them the globe."  The red-haired female Regent continued her argument after glancing to Irene Frederic.  "And apparently your socializing with them extended far past their need for your particular area of expertise."_  
  
 _"_ Areas _."  Helena had corrected.  "I happen to be an expert in many areas.  And while I might not be as formidable in the area of lie detection as Agent Jinks, I certainly know a veil of shit when I'm forced to look through one."_  
  
 _"Language, Ms. Wells."_  
  
 _Irene Frederic interjected before Helena could begin her colorful retort.  Irene then tried to make her case in the matter but, for once, her voice seemed to fall on deaf ears._  
  
 _This both surprised and agitated Helena because she really wanted to be civil about this entire meeting, which was beginning to appear more like a court hearing, but she could see that certain Regents had no intention of being civil about expressing their poor opinions of her._  
  
 _"Who, exactly, are you intending to investigate here?"  Helena questions._  
  
 _"Your interactions with other agents whilst providing assistance during_ casework _is a crucial part of your rehabilitation, Ms. Wells."  This from a male Regent Helena did not recognize.  "Engaging with the agents in frivolous and personal conversation, outside of that context, is an unnecessary distraction."_  
  
 _"An unnecessary distraction."  Helena echoes.  "Well, I'm afraid I was never given instructions on the proper etiquette for one whose conscious existence is entrapped in a holographic projection globe."_  
  
 _"Ms. Wells, what, exactly, was the nature of your numerous interactions with Ms. Claudia Donovan?"  The original female Regent asks with a tone Helena is certain is meant to be demeaning.  "And I highly encourage you to just answer the question."_  
  
 _"_ Agent _Claudia Donovan is an integral part of the warehouse.  She has done more to stabilize that overstocked antiques shop than even the current caretaker can manage, with all due respect to Irene."  No one spoke to that, so Helena decided to use this opportunity to further educate the woman.  "She is a highly intelligent young woman who happens to share my love for inventing and has sought out my advice on, what you might call_ numerous _, occasions."_  
  
 _This seems to satisfy the Regent, who then looks down at some paperwork on the table in front of her and back up to Helena._  
  
 _"And what about your_ numerous _lengthy interactions with Agent Bering?"_  
  
 _That, Helena thinks while recalling the few nights Myka had activated the globe in the seclusion of her bedroom, was not as easily explained away._  
  
  
  
"HG Wells, in the very flesh!"  
  
A small voice pulls Helena from her memories and draws her eyes to the top of the staircase where an equally small elderly woman stands with her hands at either side of her face, sandwiching what Helena believes is the most adorable face she has ever seen.  
  
"Hello?"  Helena calls.  The woman steps forward to begin her descent and a moment of panic moves Helena up the stairs to her side and she takes her free arm to assist.  "Please, allow me."  
  
"Oh Darling, you're making me feel old and, if I recall correctly, you are in fact older than I am."  The older woman lets out a laugh that fills Helena with a kind of familiar warmth.  
  
"You're English?"  Helena stays by her side as they descend the stairs.  The woman is definitely more spry than she looks and matches, then hastens, Helena's pace to the bottom.  
  
"I am indeed."  The older woman says.  "Born and partially raised but having moved to America as a child."  
  
"And when was that?"  Helena asks before she thinks the question might sound rude.  The older woman just laughs.  
  
"Usually, I say long before your time, but in this case it was quite some time _after_ your time."  The woman flashes a coy smile at Helena, clearly quite proud of the musing.  "Come, come child.  Well, not a child, I suppose.  Maybe I should be calling you auntie?"  
  
The older woman leads Helena through a doorway leading into a sitting area.  
  
"Sit, please."  Helena does and the older woman sits across from her.  "Gigi?"  The woman calls out, stretching to see into a back room.  "Oh, where is that girl with the tea?"  She turns back to Helena smiling.  "Would you like some tea?"  
  
"Oh, that would be nice."  Helena smiles.  "May I ask your name?"  
  
"Oh dear, my apologies."  The woman laughs.  Helena deduces that she is cheerful like this quite possibly all the time.  It is both unnerving and refreshing.    
  
It eases her anxieties about the Regents' promise to allow Helena to rejoin civilization, to acclimate her to the 21st century so that she could live apart from the warehouse.  Away from the perils of death and mayhem that the warehouse seemed so fond of throwing at her and putting her through.  
  
It's the thing she had wanted most, and they had actually given it to her.  
  
  
  
 _Jane Lattimer had come busting into the diner with such a force that Helena had noticed the rise in tension permeating through every seat in the building.  She also noted the distinct sigh of relief that Mrs. Frederic let go of in that moment._  
  
 _Jane had first turned to the Regent Kosan, who nodded a silent acknowledgement, and then she had turned her sights on the red-haired Regent.  The woman, still seated, began to speak but Jane, who seemed to be operating off of the adrenaline of having just been freed from a several-hours-long flight from China, held her hand up to the other woman and all but demanded her silence._  
  
 _"It has come to my attention in recent weeks," Jane began, "that one of us here has made it her personal duty to single-handedly start a campaign around the particulars of some of our agents' courting preferences."_  
  
 _There were whispers then.  Helena grew angry at what she believed Jane was insinuating about this woman, but held her tongue.  Jane approached the woman with her shoulders squared and eyes like daggers.  She bent forward to the other woman, making sure their eyes were level, and began to say the things that Helena would never forget came from Pete's mother's mouth._  
  
 _"The nature of our agents' private lives, where no known threat to the warehouse exists as a result, is absolutely none of our business."  The redhead opens her mouth.  Jane turns her head slightly to focus a single eye on the woman.  Her mouth closes.  "You have allowed your personal and political opinions to interfere with your duties and I, for one, am no longer going to sit idly by while you needlessly waste resources investigating, interrogating, and criminalizing valuable agents whose skill and expertise absolutely_ cannot _be replaced.  And who, to be very clear, are not breaking any rules that are governed by this Regency."_  
  
 _Helena decides, in this moment, that she will one day tell Pete that she is in love with his mother.  Just to watch him squirm._  
  
 _"I am motioning to have you dismissed.  All in favor?"_  
  
 _Was it that simple?_  
  
 _Only two hands did not find their way into the air.  Jane straightened her stance then and looked across the diner._  
  
 _"And anyone else who decides to make a personal vendetta against our agents, because they do not agree with their relationship decisions, can dismiss themselves."_  
  
 _Helena glanced at Irene Frederic with what she's sure was wide-eyed surprise._  
  
 _Irene didn't smile this time, but she did wink._  
  
  
  
"You can call me Goldie."  
  
"Goldie."  Helena says it absently.  "That's lovely."  
  
"Well, I am just so _so_ delighted that the Regents thought to have you stay with me, HG Wells."  The woman claps her hands together, looking absolutely giddy.  
  
"Please, call me Helena."  
  
"Yes, Helena.  Forgive me, I'm a fan of your work as HG and I have just heard so much about you for so many years.  I'm a little star struck, to be honest."  Helena laughs at that.  "My mother always told me your stories."  
  
"It's quite all right."  Helena says.  "They tell me you are a retired Regent?  I did not think that such a thing even existed."  
  
"Oh, Darling, everything exists with the warehouse."  Goldie winks at Helena.  "I just happened to not die from the stress of the Regency like everyone else."  Helena laughs only because the older woman laughs at that too, despite the morbidity of her statement.  She gathers that her extended life is a result of her humorous nature.    
  
"I have to say, Goldie, you are quite a breath of fresh air."  The older woman is looking off toward the back room again.  

"Well, I know warehouse life can be a little daunting if not downright depressing at times."  Goldie turns back to Helena and her smile is big.  Helena notices she has a gorgeous smile and _all_ of her teeth, and then reminds herself that this is, apparently, a common thing for old people now, having fake teeth.

She laughs at the random thought.  
  
"It has definitely been daunting for me lately. I thought I would feel more at home there, but it's not been working out so well.  I mean, I didn't help the situation but..."  Helena follows Goldie's stare toward the back door.  
  
"Gigi?!  Are you even here?"  She turns back to Helena.  "Yes, well, there were innumerable days that I had to escape that horrific place.  Just to breathe or feel human."  
  
Helena nods in agreement but lowers her head to stare at her lap.    
  
"But we aren't here to talk warehouse."  She says it with some disgust and Helena looks up to smile at her as she waves her hand flippantly into the air.  "We are here to talk about you and returning to civilization.  Are you sure this what you want to do?"  
  
Helena nods again.  "I am."  
  
  
  
 _"I want my life back."_  
  
 _Jane had sat down in the booth across from Helena when the dust had settled behind three dismissed Regents.  Jane assured her they'd already found trustworthy replacements for them._  
  
 _Helena did not want to ask about what happened to resigned former Regents because she had never heard of such a thing existing  before._  
  
 _Now Jane was leaning forward into her arms on the table top.  She was watching Helena rather intently and after a few moments of quiet, she nodded._  
  
 _"We can't send you back in time, you know?"_  
  
 _Helena rolls her eyes.  "You let me worry about time travel."   Jane smiles at that and sits back again._  
  
 _"You helped save my son's life.  Not to mention Artie's and, of course, Myka's, too."  Jane smirks at that.  "I can think of no better way to repay you than to support you."_  
  
 _Helena could hear Jane's tone quite well.  She was not just talking about supporting her here and now, in her want to disconnect from the warehouse life._  
  
 _"I think you have already proved yourself in that regard."  Helena smiled, motioning to the now-empty booth across from her._  
  
 _"That was a long-time coming."  Jane sighs. "It has taken over many of our meetings, for years.  If you could believe that the Regency has had a slower time progressing than many of the states in this country."_  
  
 _"No."  Helena smiled feigning disbelief._  
  
 _"We do have to set rules."_  
  
 _Both Helena and Jane turned their attentions to Kosan, who was on his feet now, moving toward them and taking the empty space in the booth across from them._  
  
 _"Because of the nature of_ things _, we do have to set rules about re-acclimating you into society.  Specifically a modern day society."  He explained.  "As such, your interactions with the agents of Warehouse 13 will be restricted.  You won't be consulting with them any longer."_  
  
 _"Great."_  
  
 _"Are you_ sure _this is what you want, Helena?"  Jane narrowed her eyes, her brows knitting together in slight confusion.  "You won't be permitted to see Pete and Myka," Helena knew that she really just meant Myka, "for several months."_  
  
 _Helena turned to Mrs. Frederic then because she knew she, of anyone, would understand what she was saying.  "Distance is the only way I know how to protect myself from the perils of the warehouse, without actually being dead.  It has sucked enough life out of me.  I am quite done."_  
  
 _By distance, she meant_ lots of it. _By myself, she meant_ Myka _.  By warehouse, she_ meant _herself._  
  
 _By dead, she meant absolutely dead._  
  
 _Jane only nodded._  
  
 _They excused Helena from the diner while they finished up their meeting.  She decided to take up space outside by Mrs. Frederic's limousine where her driver was standing in silence, but the second he spotted her, he retreated into the vehicle._  
  
 _"Well, hello to you, too."  She said to the ghost of air he left behind._  
  
 _After some time, several other town cars began to pull into the diner parking lot.  The Regents began emptying out and into their vehicles, the majority paying very little attention to Helena, the rest only nodding their acknowledgement of her presence.  Only one Regent, another red-haired female, smiled at her, and Helena smiled in return._  
  
 _It was another ten minutes before Mrs. Frederic appeared at her side in her usual unannounced fashion, and scared Helena halfway to her own demise._  
  
 _"Oh, fudge!"  Helena had  actually jumped when she turned to the other woman.   She thought she'd done an excellent job of staring at the diner door, willing it to open and release answers in the form of Irene.  But it seems Irene Frederic had found the one moment that she looked away, to stare at the surprisingly attractive older Regent who smiled at her, to exit the building._  
  
 _"Ready?"_  
  
 _"I suppose I don't have a choice."  Helena said then.  "To be ready or not."_  
  
 _"You_ always _have a choice, Ms. Wells."_  
  
 _They got into the car then and Mrs. Frederic explained the details of her re-acclimation to society.   Helena tried very hard to focus, to push away the sudden feeling of sadness that welled up in her at the sight of the attractive Regent, but she knew she was failing miserably._  
  
 _Helena realized she would not get to say goodbye to Myka.  Would not see her for months, if ever.  Maybe she was better off that way.  She_ had _asked for this, right?  Myka would certainly move on just fine, she always did.  She was strong and capable and beautiful and loving._

 _Maybe Helena could learn to move on, too._  
  
 _Then she licked her own lips and the taste of Myka, of the lip balm she wore, was still there, and biting the tainted lip down was all she could do to keep herself from demanding Mrs. Frederic turn the car around and take her back to the B &B._  
  
 _She managed to hold back her tears for the entire drive._  
  
 _By the time they reached whatever city she had been exiled to, the only thing she knew about her acclimation to society was that she would be staying with an older, retired Regent, and was encouraged to take up a multitude of hobbies and basic skills community classes to help her along the way._  
  
 _When they pulled up to an impressive three-story Victorian town home, Helena felt an odd sense of familiarity._  
  
 _"Ms. Baker will help you obtain anything you need from here on out.  She'll be your guide, answer any questions you have, assist you in learning more about this time."_  
  
 _Helena nodded, a new sadness taking over her.  That had once been Myka's job.  She had even enjoyed taking advantage of Myka's willingness to teach her, often pretending to have no idea how to operate a particularly self-explanatory device._  
  
 _Helena turned her eyes to the door of the limousine, hesitating before making her exit. "Thank you, Irene.  I truly appreciate this."  She opened the door to leave._  
  
 _"Helena."  She turned immediately at Irene's voice, her tone had turned rather soft suddenly.  "You won't always be able to run away, you know?"_  
  
 _Helena smirked, nodded, then shrugged her shoulder just a little._  
  
 _"I know."_  
  
  
  
"Goldie, if you don't mind my asking," Helena stands and walks toward the back doorway, the one Goldie seems obsessed with, "are you _really_ going to be acclimating me to the 21st century?"  
  
The doorway leads to a gorgeous and spacious chef's kitchen, but save for a few half-cut vegetables on the counter top, it is empty.    
  
"Oh God, child no."  The thought makes Goldie extra giggly.  "I could certainly bring you up to speed if you're interested in learning about the years 1934 through 1974, but once computers started taking over, well, that was it for me."  
  
Helena smiles politely at Goldie, returning to her seat.  "The kitchen is empty, I'm afraid.  No one in sight."  
  
"Oh, I suppose she went out then."    
  
"The Regents said Ms. Baker, I assumed," Helena began.  
  
"We are quite a few Ms. Bakers in our family dear.  We don't really put much stock into the notion of marriage, so the name has had some staying power."  
  
"Oh, I see."    
  
"My daughter is Ms. Baker, my granddaughter, _her_ daughter.  My mother was the first of us.  Before her, her mother was slightly more compliant with the assumed rituals of womanhood.  I mean, back then a woman acquired a man by necessity, whether she wanted one or not..."  
  
"Oh yes, you are, as they say, preaching to the choir."  Helena laughs when Goldie realizes what she's saying.    
  
"Of course, you know all about that.  I'm not even sure where my mind is."  The older woman stands and walks to a bookshelf along the far wall.  "At any rate, my mother did marry, but she kept her name and named me for herself.  You can imagine the scandal.  But my two brothers, they are named for my father.  He wouldn't have it any other way.  My mother didn't seem to care much in that regard."  
  
"She sounds like a woman of my own heart."  Helena is watching Goldie scan over book bindings until she finally pulls out a large book and brings it to the table in front of Helena.    
  
"Well, I might add, you had quite the influence on her as a child.  So, it's not so surprising."    
  
Helena wonders how her brother's books filled with her stories could have possibly influenced at least four generations of women to remain unwed.  But she's heard far more unbelievable things in her time.  
  
Then she realizes the book in front of her is actually a photo album.  Goldie flips it open wide to reveal pages and pages of black and white photos that send Helena almost reeling at the familiarity of the images they portray.    
  
"Wow."  It's all she can say.  She looks closer at some of the images, almost recognizes the surroundings.  "Oh my."  
  
"Here, my mother."  Goldie points out a photo with a young woman holding a baby in front of a brick home much like Helena's in London.  "With me."  
  
"That house looks so much like my own in London."  Helena smiles.  
  
"Well, it should.  It's the same neighborhood."  Goldie laughs.  
  
Helena's eyes widen at that.  "And what year was your mother born in?"  
  
"Ah, I believe she was... 1890...1893."  
  
Helena can feel the blood leaving her face.  She suddenly finds that it's difficult to breathe.  Her vision blurs.  Her mind is already going back, very far back, to 1893.    
  
Christina was two years old, had just started speaking.  It was then that Helena knew she would be in trouble.  Helena really wishes she could have experienced all that trouble Christina would have caused her as a teenager.  She longs for it.  
  
She can feel Goldie's eyes on her but the older woman doesn't say anything.  She stands up and comes to sit beside Helena on the couch and places a comforting hand over Helena's hand.  
  
"I have something for you, Helena."  Goldie's voice is soft and absent the cheer it seems to typically posses.  It sounds more understanding now, empathetic.  "I wasn't very sure it would mean anything to you until I actually saw you and recognized you."  
  
Helena takes in a deep breath now, her first in several seconds.  She blinks and feels warm tears cascade down her cheeks.  
  
Goldie pulls the photo album into her lap and turns past several pages, when she stops she detaches one photo from a page and hands it to Helena.  "This is my mother, as a child, with some of her neighbors."  
  
Helena first sees the small child that is meant to be Goldie's mother.  She can't help the smile that comes to her face.  She knows those chubby cheeks quite well.  The girl was probably five years old and so often Helena found her in their home, in search of her daughter.  

She used to tease her about building tunnels from her house to theirs, because she could never quite figure out how and when the little thing got inside.  
  
"The relentless shadow."  Helena smiles through tears.  "That's what my Christina used to call your mother."  She laughs because it sounds ridiculous but so does being bronzed for over one hundred years.  So does traveling through time.  So does the notion that generations of women in a single family can actually be successful and prosperous, in their own right, in the absence of a husband or brother to play the face.  
  
And what's even more absurd is the idea that Helena is now staring at a random photo of herself and her daughter, with so many other familiar faces, from 1898.  
  
Helena's tears are as relentless as the Goldie's mother.  She sobs over the image of her daughter and sobs even more because she's crying so much that she can hardly see through the tears to see her daughter.   The children are all actually smiling, a rare thing then as pictures were never meant to entice smiles, rather than just detail an occasion.    
  
Goldie places a comforting hand on Helena's back and sits in silence with her as she makes several pathetic attempts to control her emotions.    
  
"Can I keep this?"  Helena finally asks when she is able to both talk and breathe.  "Can I...?"  
  
"It's yours."  Goldie smiles.  "I'm afraid it's the only one I have of your daughter."  
  
"No, no."  Helena wipes tears from her face.  "This is probably the best thing I have seen since returning to this... this world.  I'm... I am so grateful that you are sharing this with me. I don't have a photo of the both of us and this... this is priceless.  I can't even..."  
  
"I suppose we should frame it soon, then.  Before you have a chance to ruin it with all of those tears."  Goldie is wiping Helena's cheeks now and her infectious laugh returns to her.  Helena smiles.  
  
"I'm impossible, I know it."  
  
Someone comes through the front door as Helena returns her gaze to the photo in front of her.    
  
"Nan, I've returned!"  A woman's voice is calling up the stairs.  
  
"Oh, we are in here, Gigi."  Goldie calls back.  
  
Helena turns as a dark-haired woman, appearing about her own age, finds her way into the sitting room while straining to see over the two paper bags filled with groceries that she carries in her arms.  
  
"Oh, hi Nan!  Who's your friend?"  The woman winks at Helena.  
  
"Where have you been, Gigi?  I was calling you for hours for some tea."  Goldie chastises.  
  
"I told you I was headed to the store."  Seeing the woman struggle with the bags, Helena sets the photo on the table and stands to relieve her of one.  
  
"Here, let me get that before they find the floor."  
  
"Oh, no, you don't have to."  
  
Helena already has the bag in her hands and she stalls, catches her breath, now having a very good visual of the woman before her.  The woman whose long dark curls and bright green eyes bear more than a striking resemblance to a woman that she already knows.  
  
Helena starts to wonder if she has a "type".  
  
"It's okay."  Helena smiles.  
  
The other woman is smiling at her, too, but the smile fades as her eyes seem to take in more of Helena's face and she knits her brows together.    
  
"You've been crying."  She says.  
  
"Oh, yeah."  Helena sighs.  "Your Nan had just been taking me for a ride down memory lane."  
  
The woman smiles.  "She's very good at that, with her stories.  It must have been quite a ride for you."    
  
Helena looks to Goldie whose smile is almost too big, and then adjusts the bag in her hands, turning back to the younger Baker woman.  "Where should I...?"  She begins to ask, gesturing to the groceries.    
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry.  I don't know where my mind has gone!"  She rushes to the kitchen and Helena follows, setting the bag on the counter where the other woman sets the first.    
  
"Make us some tea!"  Goldie shouts from the other room.  Helena smiles as the woman before her tilts her head back in a very familiar looking display of annoyance, and then looks to Helena with an eye roll.  
  
"She's quite lively, your Nan."  Helena chuckles.  
  
"Yes.  Lively.  That's the word we'll use to describe her."  When the woman winks at Helena again, and when Helena feels the rush of blood to her cheeks, she excuses herself in favor of returning to the company of the elder Ms. Baker and sedating whatever _that_ was.    
  
"I can see Geraldine in her."  Helena says, retuning to her seat.  "And you."  
  
Goldie smiles.  "You remember my mother well then?"  
  
"She was always at our home.  She absolutely loved Christina.  Always called her Sister and asked to come play with her dolls."  
  
"But Christina was less than thrilled with her shadow?"  Goldie questions.  
  
"Christina would tease about the shadow thing with me, but she was always very welcoming with Geraldine.  She was a great surrogate big sister.  She even gave her a few of her dolls, if I can recall."  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"You wouldn't happen to..."  Helena stops herself from asking and shakes her head.  "Never mind."  
  
"No, what is it you were asking?  About the dolls?"    
  
Helena only nods.  
  
"My mother had quite a few things that she was able to save from our home in London after the bombings, but you have to understand how difficult it was to bring everything over."  
  
"The bombings?  Oh, from one of the wars." Helena nods her understanding.  "I know, it's a lot to expect anyway..."  
  
"I'll have one of the younger ones look through some of the old chests in the attic to see what they can find.  They love rustling around up there."  Goldie smiles.  "There are dolls, but I wouldn't know what to look for exactly."  
  
Helena exhales and is relieved and smiles, all at once.  "Thank you, Goldie.  You have been such a welcoming end to a very long and very frustrating week.  Well, year.  Or lifetime, I suppose."    
  
Helena thinks that the sound of her own laugh mixed with Goldie's laugh will be just the thing she needs to maintain her sanity for the next few months that she's meant to spend keeping her mind away from the warehouse and it's agents.  She has only been in this home for less than an hour and she already feels as comfortable here as she had with her surrogate family at the B &B.  Before the meltdown.  Before Yellowstone.  And before the globe and Sykes and the twenty-two hours of time she lost last night to a time thief taking advantage of her best friend.  
  
"My home is your home now."  Goldie smiles.  "I can't promise late-night slumber parties and talk of cute boys or doing hair, because I'm usually in bed by seven.  However, I am well aware of the mess the Regents have made of your life for the past year and I can assure you, Helena, that you can live your life as you want here.  That, I _can_ promise you."  
  
Helena begins to cry again and Goldie is already wiping her tears away.  
  
"Thank you, Goldie.  Thank you so very much."  
  
"Now, where is that damn tea of ours?"  
  
Right on cue, the kettle sounds from the kitchen.    
  
"Patience, Nan!"  The younger Ms. Baker calls out.    
  
"Be careful with that one.  She hears _everything_."  Goldie whispers.  
  
"I heard that!"  Helena and Goldie share another laugh as the sound of glass clinks around in the kitchen.  
  
Helena returns to examining the photo of her and Christina in their old neighborhood.  She smiles trying to place names to the other faces there but is then equally overwhelmed with the knowledge that all of these little faces have lived their lives and have since passed away.    
  
At least, she hopes they had lived their lives.  
  
Myka had been the one to tell her about the two major wars that had taken place while she'd been bronzed.  Helena had not taken the news lightly and it may or may not have been a part of the catalyst that sent her raging off to Yellowstone.    
  
To learn about the millions of innocent lives that had been taken then, and add to that the millions of lives that have been taken since, in the name of war.  
  
Lives that were being taken still today.    
  
If Myka's arms had not been physically holding her together that night, she might not have been able to remain in that place at the time.  But Myka was her typically perceptive self and, halfway through her reading Anne Frank's _actual_ diary, which was another part of the warehouse collective, aloud to Helena, she had noticed a peculiar silence.    
  
  
  
 _"You're too quiet."  Myka had told her._  
  
 _Helena could only shake her head.  She didn't even feel like crying.  She just felt like breaking things.  Everything.  A selfish thought stalked into her mind as she suddenly felt lucky that her home in London had not been destroyed by the bombings, and that only served to make her more angry at herself._  
  
 _"This happened years ago."  Myka said softly._  
  
 _"It happened."  Helena barely responded through gritted teeth.  "That it happened at all is..."  She shook her head again.  "We don't deserve the incredibility of a life-sustaining planet."_  
  
 _Myka had taken in a very deep breath then.  She set Anne's book down over a static bag and peeled purple gloves off.  The heat in Helena's core was rising and she sensed that Myka could feel it.  Beautifully perceptive, highly in-tune, Myka Bering._  
  
 _She wondered if it was something that just came naturally to the younger woman, or if it was a skill that was especially reserved for her time spent with Helena._  
  
 _Helena was lost to her rage until she felt Myka's hands over her fist, running her fingertips over Helena's fingers until her hands eventually relaxed.  Helena wasn't even aware that she had closed her eyes at that point, but when she opened them, there was Myka, suddenly by her side and holding her hands._  
  
 _"I feel helpless."_  
  
 _It's all she said.  Myka pulled Helena into her, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing her so tight that Helena could barely breathe.  It was surprisingly comforting, it calmed her.  Helena's entire body melted into Myka's arms.  She didn't sob, and she didn't cry, and she didn't even shed a tear.  She just melted into the other woman until she knew Myka was carrying the bulk of her dead weight, and then she fell asleep._  
  
 _She awoke in her own bed the following day.  Myka must have asked Pete to move her there.  She was surprised he had agreed.  Myka had probably threatened him over it._  
  
 _Helena smiled imagining it.  She felt immensely better recalling the feel of Myka's arms around her._  
  
 _It was later in the day that they received a ping regarding the mysterious deaths of three deceased college students by rapid dehydration in Egypt._  
  
  
  
"Nan, you really need to stop reducing our guests to tears."    
  
Helena takes in a deep breath at the sudden presence of the younger Ms. Baker bringing in a tray with the newly boiled water, two mugs for tea, and a platter of biscuits.  
  
 _No, cookies_ , Helena rethinks.  _Pete eats cookies.  Myka eats biscuits._   That's how she has come to remember the American difference.  
  
"She was already crying when she arrived, darling girl.  You can't blame me for that."  Goldie teases, patting Helena's leg.  
  
The other woman sets the tray on the table in front of Helena and Goldie.  
  
"I don't believe that for a second."  She says.  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid your Nan is right."  Helena smiles.  "I've been doing quite a bit of crying lately.  I'm honestly surprised I can still produce real tears."  
  
The woman smiles softly at Helena now, who takes in a steady breath and decides that avoiding those way-too familiar eyes will be her first task in acclimating herself to the 21st Century.  
  
"So, I hear we are going to be spending quite a bit of time together."  The woman says, smiling fully now.  Her eyes dance around Helena's face, too, and then she smirks and Helena thanks God that she doesn't also have Myka's beautiful, curly lips.  "I hope you know how to do more than cry in the 21st Century, otherwise I think I have my hands full."  
  
"Oh," Helena says as the realization hits her, "You're the Ms. Baker that's meant to aid me in becoming a modern woman, then?"  
  
Myka's doppelgänger laughs just then and Helena is also relieved that she doesn't have Myka's laugh.  She is, in fact, not at all like Myka aside from the hair and the eyes, which might prove to be a problem all on their own.    
  
Still, Helena is so fresh from being ripped away from the woman she loves, that she easily tells herself that whatever sort of familiarity she sees on this woman, to Myka, is based purely on the trauma of their latest separation.  
  
"Well, first thing's first, never call me Ms. Baker again."  She laughs at that and Helena is beginning to see more of Goldie in her by the minute.  "Such titles have been reserved for the much _older_ generation."  She's holding a hand to the side of her mouth as if to block the words from reaching Goldie's ears.    
  
Helena chuckles at that and even more so when Goldie says, "I may be old, but I'm hardly deaf, child."  
  
"Then I suppose a proper introduction is in store."  Helena stands then and holds out her hand to the other woman.  "I'm Helena.  Helena Wells.  But you're welcome to call me HG, if you'd prefer."  
  
The other woman smiles wide, taking the hand.  "Yes, HG Wells.  The infamous, and might I add, quite beautiful up close and in color.  Your 19th Century black and white photos don't really do you justice." She let's go of a soft laugh after that and Helena tries hard to stop the blush she feels creeping into her cheeks.  
  
"Well, that's what happens when you rely solely on light and mirrors to create photographs."  Helena rolls her eyes playfully and shrugs.    
  
"Ah yes, and while I can certainly appreciate the antiquated technologies of the 19th Century, I do believe it's time to play catch up."    
  
Helena smirks, "Then by all means, do catch me up."  She doesn't mean to be flirtatious but she forgets how naturally it comes to her, even with the events of the morning still fresh on her mind. "Starting with whatever it is you prefer me to call you, perhaps?"  
  
"Oh."  The other woman blushes now.  "I'm sorry, I am so rude."  She smirks, and it's only then that Helena realizes their hands are still connected because the other woman squeezes hers gently.  "My name is Giselle.  Giselle Baker."  
  
"Giselle."  It rolls off of Helena's tongue too flawlessly.  "It's so very nice to meet you."


	4. Myka: Wisconsin'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's basically Myka just doing whatever the hell Myka feels like doing with her life, as she often does when HG is around, and takes place immediately after her previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just about killed me. I mean to say, I had somewhat of a mid-fic crisis while writing it. I even skipped it and completely wrote the next chapter before returning to this chapter. So, to summarize, I'm not going to waste a lot of time editing this because I just want to get it posted and out of my mind.

"Leena, do you like cats?"  
  
Leena's brows fly as she lets out a bemused chuckle and broad smile that, upon seeing how serious Myka truly is, shifts into something like disbelief and slight confusion.  
  
"Myka, I'm _Black_."    
  
Claudia spits milk and cereal back into her bowl in favor of not choking on her laughter from such a blatantly obvious response.  
  
"Is that a... no?"  Myka smiles awkwardly, looking from Claudia to a now chuckling Pete and back to Leena.  
  
Leena smiles and then begins to nod slowly.    
  
"B'ack peepo don' lak cass, Mahka."  Pete states, matter-of-factly, through the half of a banana that he’s shoved into his mouth.  
  
Myka doesn't understand.    
  
“Historically, Black people and cats don't mix well.”  She responds.  
  
"She's not lying.”  Steve interjects above a bowl of cereal.  
  
“Historically.”  Myka repeats, a smile slowly forming across her lips as she tries to imagine how Pete managed to get absolutely everyone in on this joke.  “No, I heard what he said but I don't understand.  Is that a thing that people know?”  Myka wonders aloud.  
  
“Yes, Agent Bering.”  
  
Everyone jumps all at once at the sound of Mrs. Frederic’s voice and sudden appearance in the doorway.  
  
“It is a _thing_.”  She says moving further into the dining room where all of the warehouse agents sit around the round table enjoying breakfast.  "Some people know."  
  
"Several of my buddies back in the corps were very adamantly against cat ownership."  Pete nods with a laugh and shaking his head.  "Not all, obviously."  He waves his hand flippantly.  
  
“You, too?”  Myka questions turning to Mrs. Frederic.  
  
Mrs. Frederic shrugs a single shoulder.  “They’re everywhere, on everything.  I don't have enough time in my day to bother with," she fails miserably at hiding her repulsion, "cat hair."    
  
Or maybe she wasn't trying to hide it at all.  
  
"I agree."  Myka says then looks to Pete.  "Maybe _I'm_ Black."  
  
Claudia loses more cereal mid-chew.  "Okay, you guys are really not allowed to be this ridiculous  _this_ early in the morning."  
  
Myka swears she can see Mrs. Frederic shudder and she'd love to further explore the topic of Black people and cats, but she is suddenly more interested in answers to more pressing questions.  
  
"And how is our dear friend HG Wells?"  She asks expectantly.  The other agents follow her gaze to Mrs. Frederic and mimic the expectant look.    
  
"Happy."  Is all Mrs. Frederic offers.  
  
This causes Myka to pout but, considering the abruptness of her demands the previous day, she decides to accept that answer in lieu of not being unceremoniously dismissed from her warehouse agentry.  
  
"Okay."  She nods.  "So, about this cat."    
  
"You get a cat or you get a ferret, Myka."  It's quite possibly the sweetest sounding threat that Myka has ever heard in her life.  "You don't get both."  
  
"Oh, Leena."  Claudia smiles sitting straight and flashing the other woman a crooked smile.  "I do love that sweet attitude."  
  
Pete and Myka exchange the same curious look before Myka returns her attention to Leena.  
  
"I don't actually _like_ cats either."  Myka said.  "I just thought maybe temporarily.  Until I find a home for him."  
  
"Are you really going to fly back to Wisconsin to go pick up that cat?"  Pete asks before taking another bite of banana.  "I gave you the keys as a momento, not an invitation to ransack Emily's apartment."  
  
" _Pete_."  Myka scolds through gritted teeth, socking him in the arm.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  Mrs. Frederic turns her attention back to Myka.  "You have plans to return to Emily _Lake's_ apartment, Ms. Bering?"  
  
Myka glares at Pete, then pinches him under the table. "Yow!"  He yelps.  "Do you see the kind of treatment I have to endure here?"  
  
"I promised Emily I would take care of her stupid cat and I forgot.  Now she's gone and the damn thing is locked up in her bathroom."    
  
Mrs. Frederic eyes Myka, then glances to Steve who is still quietly watching these scenes play out while hovering over a bowl of cereal.  
  
"She's not lying."  He offers.  
  
"You're such a narc."  Claudia teases, pushing Steve's arm with a small laugh.    
  
"I've already been killed once."  He says, glancing up at Mrs. Frederic.  "I have no plans to be killed a second time."  
  
"Dude!  Way too soon."  Claudia pouts.    
  
Myka sighs.  "Is there something wrong with me going to Wisconsin?  I've already booked my flight and Pete is driving me to the Featherhead airport in twenty minutes."  
  
"Can I speak to you alone, Agent Bering?"  
  
Mrs. Frederic's true power reveals itself at the quickness in which every other person in the room manages to disappear from the dining table with banana peels, cereal bowls, silverware, and glasses filled with juice miraculously vanishing in seconds.  Several agent-shaped dust clouds are left in their wake and Myka is left rolling her eyes.  
  
"And yet no one can manage to _ever_ be on time to anything?!"  She yells to the house in general.  
  
Mrs. Frederic takes a seat where Pete had been sitting and Myka shakes her head.    
  
"Happy?"  She decides to test those waters again.    
  
"I assure,"  Mrs. Frederic pauses momentarily, "I _promise_ you."  She gives a single nod.  
  
"Well," Myka sighs, somewhat disappointed, and taking a bite of the forgotten granola bar in her hand, "that was quick."  
  
"Agent Bering, she is HG Wells.  The woman was born over one hundred years ago then catapulted into the 21st Century with quite a force, and, without skipping a beat, was able to navigate her way around the world as a means to try to destroy it."  Mrs. Frederic arches a brow in Myka's direction.  "She _knows_ how to adapt."  
  
"I guess."  Myka doesn't mean to sulk but she's does.  "Can I visit her?"  
  
She gets her answer in the form of pursed lips and an incredulous look.  
  
"If you intend to go to Wisconsin to _ransack_ Emily Lake's apartment, you should know that your timeline is quite limited."  Mrs. Frederic offers.  "The Regents are the ones who placed her there and they will be sending a cleanup crew, of sorts, to erase her existence by tomorrow evening."  
  
"Why haven't they done it already?"  Myka questions.  "Seems rather problematic to wait an entire weekend to disappear a woman who isn't meant to exist."  And Myka knows she says this last thing with almost too much animosity in her voice.  
  
"They have their reasons.  All of which I am not entirely privy to."  The older woman shrugs and clasps her hands together.  
  
"In other words, you haven't the slightest clue."  Myka sits back in her chair and takes another bite of her granola bar.    
  
"What exactly are you hoping to find at her apartment, Agent Bering?"    
  
"A live cat, for starters."  Myka huffs out a laugh.  "Evidence of her existence?  Something to hold on to?  Something real.  I don't know, I just really need to go."  
  
Mrs. Frederic doesn't say anything at that but quirks her lips in what Myka decides to translate as a smile.    
  
"She's really happy?"  
  
"As much as she can be without a familiarly weighted anchor to keep her in place."  
  
Myka tries to decipher those words because she's certain Mrs. Frederic is speaking cryptically, but she is hard pressed to believe that the woman is calling Myka the anchor that keeps Helena grounded.  She, instead, chooses to believe the broader definition of anchor to encompass the entire warehouse life.  
  
"It's only been one day."  Mrs. Frederic adds.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Be mindful with what you decide to collect from Emily Lake's apartment, Myka."  
  
Mrs. Frederic's use of her name catches her attention and she considers the warning duly noted, though she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why anything in Emily's apartment would warrant such caution.    
  
"And consider leaving the cat behind."  Mrs. Fredric offers.  "Leena is extremely allergic to them."  
  
Myka smiles.  "She could have just said that."  
  
"She could have," Mrs. Frederic says, "but where's the fun in that?"

 

  
  
_"Myka?"_   
  
_"Helena." Myka took in a deep breath as the holographic image of her dear friend materialized and then stabilized before her._   
  
_"Have you located another curiosity?"_   
  
_"No."_   
  
_Helena paused, taking in her surroundings.  She raised a brow, then brought her gaze back to the other woman._   
  
_"Myka?"_   
  
_The holographic image smirked._   
  
_"Helena."_   
  
_"We're in your bedroom."_   
  
_"I know."_   
  
_"Why?"_   
  
_Now Helena looked genuinely confused.  Myka inhaled deeply._   
  
_"I miss you."_   
  
_If Helena had actually been present, Myka was sure she would have heard her breath hitch, but Myka could only see her body move in such a way that she thought the older woman was surely caught off guard._   
  
_"Helena, I miss you.  A lot.  And I don't know what they've done to you or where you are but..."  Myka choked on her words then and pressed her lips together tightly._   
  
_Helena's gaze didn't leave hers, so she closed her eyes to will those sad eyes away.  Then she shook her head to try and erase the image imprinted in her mind.  Even then, she could feel the weight of Helena, all pain and anguish masked behind wit and brains,  watching her._   
  
_"Myka."_   
  
_Helena's voice was suddenly closer._   
  
_"Helena."_   
  
_She wondered how much they could possibly communicate by saying only each other's names._   
  
_She looked up and the image of Helena was suddenly closer but the hand that reached out for her had stopped just before touching the space that her arm occupied, as if she could actually touch her arm anyway._   
  
_Helena retracted the limb and lowered her head, as if just remembering she was not actually there._   
  
_Then she found more words._   
  
_"Talk to me."_   
  
_Myka looked up at her and she blinked through the burn of unshed tears._   
  
_"What?"  Myka brushed moisture from her cheeks._   
  
_Helena smiled and turned to walk toward the far corner of Myka's room with her arms crossed._   
  
_"Talk to me, Myka."  She said.  "Like you used to.  Before.  You're quite good at it and I'm here to listen."  Helena stopped near Myka's dresser, examined the framed images of her parents there, then turned back to face her.  "It's all I can do.  So, talk to me."_   
  
_"I don't know what to say."  Myka admitted._   
  
_Helena smiled.  "Then read to me."_   
  
_"Okay."_

 

  
  
It's not until Myka is actually stuck inside of Pete's car at the start of a two hour road trip that she suddenly wishes she'd asked Claudia and Steve to take her to the airport instead.  Even riding in awkward silence with Mrs. Frederic seems more appealing than the line of questioning that Pete suddenly assaults her with the second his tires start kicking up dust in the B&B driveway.  
  
"So, I want details.  What happened?  Who did it?  How'd it go?  And, most importantly," and he whispers this next thing in a really scandalous sort of way, "are you a top or are you a bottom?"  
  
"Pete!"  Myka reaches a fist up to punch him in the arm and he is already wincing but she's suddenly overwhelmed by thoughts of the night before and withdraws her fisted hand and sets it back into her own lap.  
  
And this is the action that seems to worry Pete.  
  
"Mykes."  
  
"Just drive, Pete."  She stops him.  "Drive or turn this beast around and I'll ask Claudia to bring me to the airport."    
  
Myka quietly curses the portal that brought them back to the warehouse from the other side of the world while her car is still sitting at the airport two hours away.  
  
"I'm trying to be serious now, Mykes."  Pete concedes.  "Honest to Pete."  He holds his hand up, as if to give a Boy Scout salute.  "You need to talk.  You have a captive audience for the next two hours, you should probably take advantage of-"  
  
"Helena's right."  Myka cuts him off, slouching down into the leather seat where she sits.  She kicks her shoes off then and rests her knees against the dash because somehow, even in this oversized vehicle, there's little room for her long legs.  
  
Pete is about to open his mouth and Myka decides she had better just roll with it, rather than give him the opportunity to come up with yet another scissoring joke.  
  
"We are self-sabotaging."  
  
"Don't make me ask why."  
  
"We can't just be still and be together and be happy."  Myka starts.  "There's always an artifact, or the warehouse, or the Regents, or her being hell bent on playing world's sexiest remote detonator and destroying civilization."  Myka brings her hands to her face and through her hair before bringing them to rest behind her neck. "And if there isn't an actual threat then there's just us being idiots."  
  
"Mykes, that is not self-sabotaging.  It's called your job description."  Pete looks at her for a second and she huffs out a small laugh.  
  
"Right."  She smiles.  
  
"It's just part of the job that we do.  It's a world of endless wonder and also a world of endless bullshit."  
  
"Sometimes I really wish I would have stayed in medicine.  Or law."  Myka sighs, closing her eyes tight.  
  
"Really?"  Pete asks looking somewhat offended.  "You would want to give up _all_ of this?"  He's gesturing to himself and Myka gives him the best disgusted look she can possibly muster up.  
  
"Not really a selling point, is it?"  She smiles, and now she really does punch him.  
  
"It's okay, Myka."  He rubs the spot on his arm.  "You can take your sexual frustrations out on me.  I won't tell HG."  
  
"Shut up, Pete."  But she's actually laughing now.  
  
"Seriously, Mykes, did Mrs. Frederic tell you where she is?  Can you at least visit her?  Talk to her?"  Myka shakes her head.  
  
"I know Helena."  Myka says with a smile.  "She's probably banished herself from the warehouse and who knows what small, ass backwards country town they'll throw her into this time.  To keep her away from the warehouse.  And us."  
  
"And you."  Pete corrects.  Myka yawns.  
  
"She's good at punishing herself.  And me along with it.   I'm the same way.  That's what makes us so self-sabotaging."  Then Myka is laughing.  "I think we come between us more than the warehouse comes between us, and that's..."  
  
Myka closes her eyes now, allowing exhaustion to creep up on her.  
  
"Mykes?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"That's what?"  
  
"It's stupid."  She whispers at the tail end of another yawn.  "Maybe I just need to get over it."  Her eyes open to slits when she says this to Pete and smiles.  "Maybe I need to date real people, outside of the warehouse, and stop thinking about a woman who is five times my age."  She smirks at that thought.  
  
"Right.  Because that's worked out so well for the rest of us."  Pete nods looking back to Myka.  "I hate to tell you this, Mykes, but aside from the oddly adorable thing that Claudia has going with Leena, you and HG probably have the most stable relationship of all of us to date."  
  
Myka manages to open her eyes a bit wider now.  "I'm sorry, Pete."  
  
"I don't know why you're apologizing to me."  
  
"Because of Kelly."  Myka states.  "Because the woman I love completely destroyed a really good thing for you and now I'm over here whining about her to you like you give a damn."  
  
"I do give a damn."  Pete says.  "And forget about Kelly.  I mean, yes, I loved her and I could have killed HG for what she did to her.  But, in a way, she just sped up a train that was already on a collision course.  
  
"Kelly didn't want the warehouse life.  She never would have wanted it.  So, HG maybe did us a favor and, you know, aside from the whole 'turned Kelly into a serial killer' thing, she's a cool chick and she's starting to grow on me."  
  
Myka reaches a hand out to Pete, who flinches reflexively, and she grabs his arm.   She squeezes the limb gently and smiles.    
  
She yawns again.  
  
"Besides, I really want my best man speech at your wedding to contain the words 'but she kissed me first.'"  
  
"Pete!"    
  
Myka wakes up long enough for her fist to meet his arm.  
  
"Ow!"

 

  
  
_Reading had proven its worth once again._   
  
_Myka had found herself reliving their too few days together in the weeks during Helena's reinstatement to the warehouse, when they would sit in the library and she would catch Helena up on the past 100 years' events.  The two women had fallen down a black hole of back-logged conversation that spiraled into debates, both heated and casual._   
  
_Occasionally, Myka had to remind Helena of a few historical facts from her missing century.  Occasionally, this would lead to her having successfully changed Helena's mind about something she originally proved to be a stubborn ass about.  But only occasionally._   
  
_Before long they were joking and laughing really loudly._   
  
_Myka received a text message from Pete that said, "Too much TV will rot your brain.  Even if it is in the shape of a hot Victorian-era English woman."_   
  
_She responded with, "Twenty-four hour marathon."_   
  
_"Do you think this thing has a time limit on it?"  Myka asked Helena then, setting her phone down and picking up the thing she liked to call a bowling ball, because who really knew what the hell it was?_   
  
_"I can't see why it would."  Helena shrugged.  "But I really wish I could get my hands on it.  And I do mean quite literally put my hands on the damn thing."_   
  
_"To dissect it?"  Myka asked._   
  
_Helena grinned.  "It really is quite a mysterious thing.  I mean, I get that it's projecting me from God knows where, but how does it amplify my voice?"_   
  
_"I don't know."  Myka turned the orb in her hands, examining it closely then holding it out for Helena to see.  "Maybe it's more artifact than it is science."_   
  
_"Myka, you know better than that, Darling."  Helena tilted her head then.  "Artifacts exist, that makes them science."_   
  
_"You know what I mean."  Myka smirked._   
  
_Helena had discovered that she had the ability to sit on the floor and it saved Myka the trouble of having to stand while carrying on their conversation at eye level.  Now they sat across from each other, Myka with her back against her bed and Helena just in front of her._   
  
_"I guess we will find out if it has a time limit eventually."  Myka smiled, putting the contraption onto the floor and catching Helena's thoughtful gaze._   
  
_"And how late do you plan on staying awake, exactly?"  Helena tilted her head slightly._   
  
_"Are you getting tired?"  Myka looked at her watch.  "It's not even nine o'clock.  Is your age starting to catch up with you?"_   
  
_"More age jokes, that's the path you want to walk down tonight, is it?"  Helena laughed._   
  
_Myka gave her the biggest grin she could manage and then broke out into laughter at Helena's relentless glare._   
  
_"Okay then."  Helena smirked._

 

  
  
"Mykes!"  
  
“What?  What happened?"  Myka startles, sitting straight in her seat and turning to Pete who is now exiting the driver's side with a smile on his face.  
  
“You’re drooling on my leather seats."  Pete teases.  
  
"Oh."  She slowly remembers where she is and wipes at the drool on the side of her face.  
  
"Also, you talk a lot in your sleep."  Pete winks, shutting his door.    
  
Myka grunts and peels herself from the leather seat and exits the car to meet Pete around back, where he unloads the one suitcase she has packed.  
  
"I've got it."  She says, taking the bag from him and setting it on the sidewalk as Pete shuts the back door.  
  
"Hey, on a serious note, Myka."  Pete says, joining her on the sidewalk.  "Call me if you need anything.  Even if it's just to cry.  I promise I won't make any scissoring jokes."  
  
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Lattimer."  Myka smiles.  Pete laughs and pulls her into a big hug.    
  
"So, will I see you tomorrow night?"  He squeezes her tight.  
  
"Actually, I think I'm going to fly to Colorado tomorrow.  Just for a couple of days.  Pull myself together."  
  
Pete nods.  "Makes sense.  You’ll be back, right?”  Myka glares up at him and nods.  “Just checking.  Oh, and here."  He releases his grasp on her to reach into his back pocket and pull out a pack of Twizzlers.  "For the flight."  
  
“Oh, you _do_ love me."  Myka laughs, excitably, then another thought crosses her mind.  "Wait, have you been sitting on these in the car for two hours?"  
  
"No!  No?"  Pete shakes his head and scrunches his face up.  "Nope.”  He waves a dismissive hand at her.  
  
Myka gives them a cautionary sniff and makes a face at Pete.  "I don't believe you but they smell normal, so I'm keeping them."  
  
"Get out of here and go save that damn cat."  Pete says pointing to the airport entrance.    
  
“Stay safe, Pete."  Myka hugs him once more, thanks him for both the ride and for tolerating her, once again, ranting about her love life, or lack thereof, and they part ways.  
  
  
When Myka settles into her window seat, she pulls her headphones from her bag and plugs them into her phone.  She sets it to airplane mode, turns on her in-flight playlist, all songs that painfully remind her of Helena, and closes her eyes.

 

  
  
_"I don't think I can get tired, honestly."_   
  
_Myka's smile disappeared at that thought and the numerous other thoughts that suddenly entered her mind as a result._   
  
_"What does it feel like?"  She asked, laying her head back against her bed and picking idly at the fabric of the rug beneath her._   
  
_She couldn't see or hear it, but she imagined Helena shrugging and then sighing in that moment.  "I can't feel anything at all."_   
  
_"You can't feel anything?"  Myka sat straight again, setting concerned eyes on the woman in front of her._   
  
_"Nothing physically, no.  I'm still human."  Helena scoffed.  "Ish.  Human-ish.  I think."  Her face fell and Myka's echoed her sadness.  "Would you mind if I tried a little experiment that I've been somewhat desperate to try?"_   
  
_"Okay."  Myka wasn't exactly one who was well-versed in saying "no" to Helena Wells, so long as she wasn't destroying the world._   
  
_Helena lifted a hand slowly to Myka's cheek, who took in a deep breath and held it in until the hand, that wasn't really there and couldn't really touch her, made some minuscule version of contact with her flesh._   
  
_It wasn't exactly a touch, but Myka could feel it and even that, which wasn't really anything, was cause enough for her to shut her eyes tight._   
  
_"What do you feel?"  Helena asked._   
  
_Myka exhaled.  "Warmth."  She sighed and her body threatened to betray her with it's uncontrollable tremble as she imagined Helena's hand on that spot against her cheek.  "And a slight tingling."  She felt the sensation spread across the side of her face and she imagined Helena cupping her cheek._   
  
_She inhaled again to quell that feeling in the pit of her belly._   
  
_"And now?"  Helena's voice was softer._   
  
_"Warmer."  Myka breathed.  "Like standing in front of a projector or underneath a stage light or," she opened her eyes to Helena, kneeling before her, closer than she had been before, "like sunshine through a window."_   
  
_Helena smiled, her hand still hovering along the space of Myka's cheek.  Myka bit her lip and she could see the effect it had on Helena, but wished above all things that she could hear the way it caused the other woman's breathing to change._   
  
_"And somehow," Myka breathed, "I still miss you."_

 

  
  
Myka opens her eyes to the dull gray walls of the stairwell where Emily Lake kissed her just days ago.  She looks down at her bag and then back up to the six flights of stairs.  She contemplates taking the elevator like most normal people would, especially after the flight.  
  
For some reason that even she cannot fathom, she takes the stairs.  
  
Every floor she passes jogs a memory of the all-too-short time she spent with Emily Hannah Lake in this space, in their sad attempt to flee danger when they had no idea what the danger had even been.    
  
Myka makes a mental note to ask Steve how Emily was treated after he turned her own Tesla against her and Pete during his undercover operation.    
  
By the time Myka reaches the top of the stairs and pushes her way through the stairwell door, she’s thinking of Helena’s words to her about finding happiness with Emily Lake.  The less broken version of her, she believes that’s how Helena had stated it.    
  
But Helena, Myka thinks, hasn’t the slightest clue how different Emily was from her and how much of what makes Helena herself was lacking from the brainwashed or body-swapped or Janus coined version of herself.    
  
Helena’s history, her 19th Century birthdate, her years as a mother, her lost child, the pain, the anguish, the century in bronze, and even the shit she pulled on top of a rock in Yellowstone; that’s what made Helena the person that Myka loved.  
  
 _Loves._   Myka corrects.  _She’s still alive._   More alive now, in fact, than she has been in the past several years.  Alive and well but just…  
  
Gone.

 

  
  
_Helena retracted her hand and it surprised Myka, how much she suddenly missed that non-existent touch and the hint of added something that it brought along with it._   
  
_The other woman's eyes were cast to the floor.  "Read me another book, will you, Darling?"  Helena asked without ever looking up._   
  
_"Helena."_   
  
_The older woman finally looked up to meet Myka's eyes._   
  
_"Helena, kiss me."_   
  
_"Myka?"  Helena's eyes filled with confusion._   
  
_"You heard me, Helena."_   
  
_"I don't..."_   
  
_"Don't you dare argue with me, woman."_   
  
_"How-"_   
  
_"Kiss me now or I'm turning it off."_   
  
_Helena paused just before allowing a smirk to pull at her lips._   
  
_"A bit demanding, aren't we?"_   
  
_"Helena."  Myka growled._   
  
_Helena moved closer.  "I quite like teasing you."  She whispered softly.  Myka leaned forward, allowing a disapproving noise to escape her lips, and closed her eyes.  In seconds, she felt the light warmth and tingle against her lips._   
  
_Myka let her mind move to the implausibility that Helena was so pliable in her presence.  She imagined the older woman actually there on front of her, wanting desperately to pull her closer and simultaneously reminding herself that she wasn't actually there and there was nothing to pull._   
  
_The warmth against Myka's lips relented momentarily then reappeared on her cheek, and again on her forehead, and against her eyelid, the bridge of her nose, and finally back to lips again for mere seconds before it was gone altogether._   
  
_She sighed and lowered her head, opting not to open her eyes._   
  
_"Myka."_   
  
_Myka shook her head.  She needed a moment to quell whatever it was she was feeling at that time because whatever she had felt was almost as confusing as the lack of an actual Helena in front of her._   
  
_"I hate this life sometimes."  Myka said softly._   
  
_"Darling?"_   
  
_She opened her eyes now to sad eyes. If Helena could cry, Myka's sure she would be crying._   
  
_"It's not you."  Myka shook her head, and those sad eyes somehow grew even more sad.   Helena looked away.  "I mean to say, you're not the thing that I hate about this life.  Far from it, Helena."_   
  
_Their eyes met again._   
  
_"Say something, Helena."  Myka said.  "It's weird when you don't move and you don't speak, because I can't hear you breath-"_   
  
_"I love you."_   
  
_Myka smiled.  "Well," she sighed, "that's something.”_

 

  
  
Stepping into Emily’s empty apartment is all too surreal.  Myka gets dizzy and has to catch herself on a nearby bookshelf but when she steadies, she focuses on the disaster that was left behind in Pete’s struggle from days prior.    
  
She slowly makes her way through the apartment to make a mental note of where everything is.  Kitchen to the left, bedroom and bathroom to the right.  Busted up living room in the center.  
  
When she opens the bathroom door, an enraged gray haze rushes past her and disappears somewhere down the hallway toward Emily’s bedroom.  
  
“You’re as dramatic as your mother.”  Myka yells down the hallway after him.  
  
She refills his food and water dishes then puts her restless mind to work by cleaning up the mess of broken furniture and glass throughout the living room.  Halfway through, she decides to send Pete a text message:  
  
 _M: You should be cleaning this mess.  It’s yours._  
  
And seconds later he responds:  
  
 _P: She’s your girlfriend._  
  
Myka thinks she should be annoyed, but instead the thought makes her smile.    
  
And then she stops smiling.  
  
"Only I would have a girlfriend that doesn't actually exist."  She decides not to text that in response to Pete.   Instead, she goes with:  
  
 _M: Does it count as dating twins, if Helena and Emily are technically two different people?_  
  
She can picture Pete laughing at that line.  He has made it a personal goal in life to date a twin and then the other twin.    
  
Myka doesn't usually intervene with his dreams but the last time they ran into a set of female twins on a case, she made sure to get both of their phone numbers for him.    
  
They were 83 years old.  
  
Myka's phone sounds off in her back pocket as she tosses the last bit of a broken glass and wood into a large garbage bag and heads for the garbage chute.  
  
 _P: You would actually have to date either of them first._  
  
Myka glares at her phone.  
  
 _M: Touché._  
  
When she re-enters Emily's apartment, she locks the door behind her and plops onto the couch.    
  
 _P: So, your flight arrived safely.  How's Dick?_  
  
 _M: He's being a divo and hasn't actually come out of Emily's room since I let him out of the bathroom._  
  
 _P: Have fun with your new boyfriend._  
  
And, as if he knows someone is talking about him, the elusive feline comes bounding into the living room and onto the arm of the couch, as far away from Myka as he can possibly sit.  
  
"Look."  Myka starts.  "I don't really like cats because, well, what you're doing right now creeps me out, and you don't like me and that's fine because I took your mom and she never came back."  Well, Myka rephrased in her mind, she did come back but not as Emily Lake.  Either way, she continues, "But I'm staying here tonight and you can either be a drama king about it in the bedroom, or you can chill out here with me while I figure my shit out over a glass of your mom's abandoned wine.  Your choice."  
  
They sit in silence for a solid forty seconds before the cat finally mews, waves his tail around, and then sprawls himself across the opposite end of the couch.  
  
Myka decides not to tell him the part about having to find him a new home in the morning.  
  
  
She's not much of a drinker but Myka knows enough about wine to purchase it somewhere other than the Univille grocery store.  And she's pleasantly surprised to see that Emily has a bit of a taste for it as well.  
  
She pours herself a glass and, remembering the fake framed photo that was hanging on Emily's wall, decides to look for something, anything and everything, in this apartment that is legitimately and truly Emily Lake's and not Regent-made.  
  
Myka finds real photos on the fridge in the kitchen, alongside notes and drawings, that she can only guess are from her high school students.  In the bathroom, she opens drawers and cabinets to a surprising number of beauty products.    
  
She holds up a particularly bright mint-colored bottle of nail polish and shakes her head.    
  
"Helena would die if she'd returned to her body with this on her nails."  She takes pictures of the drawers of nail polish, mostly for future blackmail purposes.    
  
She hopes she gets the opportunity to rub the images in Helena's face someday.  
  
She reads through labels of medications in the cabinet above the sink.  There are your typical lady-pain killers but a couple bottles of prescription drugs for allergies, anxiety, acid reflux .  
  
 _Oh, Helena._   Myka smiles.  _The things you don't say._  
  
And one bottle in particular that catches Myka's eye because the label is not a typical prescription label.  She opens the bottle and pours the contents into her hand.  Clear gel pills that, perhaps coincidentally, say Hg on them.  
  
She has no idea what these are but she adds them, and the acid reflux pills, to a shoe box filled with the other pictures and notes and things she intends to save from Emily's apartment.  
  
Finally, Myka makes her way into Emily's bedroom and Dickens, who is apparently still very apprehensive about her, parks himself in the doorway to watch her every move.  
  
“Calm down.”  She tells him, moving to Emily’s closet and opening the doors wide.  Spring is in full effect in Emily’s wardrobe, everything is either very bright or flower print.  Myka recoils.  Then she notices the safe at the closet floor and pulls it into the center of Emily’s bedroom.  She remembers the small key on Emily’s keychain and retrieves it, fits it into the keyhole, and smiles at the sound of success when the lock clicks open.  
  
Inside the safe are folders of medical paperwork, a false birth certificate, a copy of the police report from Emily’s so-called accident with pictures of a totaled car for added effect.  Myka adds all these things to her newly acquired box of Emily Hannah Lake’s life, then sits down on Emily Hannah Lake’s bed and falls back into Emily Hannah Lake’s pillow.  
  
“Helena.”  She smiles at the familiar scent.  She closes her eyes, only opening them again when she hears the too-familiar jingle of Dickens’ collar and feels the slight movement at the end of the bed when he jumps up onto it.  She sits up suddenly.  “Oh no you don’t.”  She points.  “Off.”  
  
Dickens sits.  She furrows her brow.  
  
“ _Go!_ ”  She points again.    
  
Dickens waves his tail slightly.  She starts to wonder if cats ever blink.  
  
“Shoo, cat!”  
  
He licks a paw.  
  
“Ugh, fine.”  Myka caves.  “But you stay on that side of the bed.  And don’t you even think about touching these pillows and ruining them with your cat smell.”  Myka clutches both pillows, pulling them to her chest and burying her nose into them.    
  
If Dickens were human, he would be flipping her off right now.  Instead, he stretches his limbs, turns a few circles, and then lays down on the bed with his butt facing Myka.  
  
“Right back at you.”  
  
Myka falls back against the bed buried in Emily’s over-sized pillows and closes her eyes.

 

  
  
 _"Myka, I can't do this."  Helena continued.  "You can't do this to me.  Please.  Just turn it off."_  
  
 _"Helena?"_  
  
 _"Myka, please, just turn the damn thing off."  Helena stood to her feet now and Myka followed suit.  Helena turned to walk away and Myka, forgetting herself, reached out to stop her but caught only air as her hand passed through the warmth and tingling sensation that made up Helena Wells._  
  
 _"Stop!"  She cried in her frustration.  Helena did and she turned around slowly as tears began to cascade down Myka's cheeks.  "What am I doing to you, Helena?"_  
  
 _The other woman's face seemed to grow angry then as she approached Myka.  "This, Myka.  Always this.  Myka, I'm not a play thing that you can just bring to your room whenever you might be feeling lonely.  And as difficult as it may be for you to believe this, all things considered, it is possible for me to hurt more than I already did before."_  
  
 _"Helena, I... I didn't mean to hurt you, I just... I missed you."_  
  
 _"And I love you."  Helena stared at her, eyes studying every inch of her face, falling to her lips, and back to her eyes.  "Do you love me, Myka?"_  
  
 _She did.  She was sure she did.  But she wasn't sure she wanted to say these things or for her to know that. She wasn't sure it was a thing that needed to be said.  Myka's mind swirled through ideas of professionalism, and conduct, and heartbreak, and world-ending encounters where she ended up pointing a gun at her own head._  
  
 _She thought of a life with the woman who had lost a child and invented a time machine not for the sake of science but purely out of love for her child.  She thought of the woman who was born over one hundred years ago and had herself bronzed out of pure grief and guilt.  The woman who had given birth to, not fathered, science fiction, a woman who wasn't just an idealization of but was actually HG Wells._  
  
 _She tried to normalize these ideas into something modern.  Tried to see herself with the other woman beyond the warehouse and artifact hunting.  Tried to imagine the other woman being with her in some mundane life where they shared a bed, bought groceries, went out to the movies.  Made love._  
  
 _She tried to imagine a reality in which any of these things were actually plausible._  
  
 _It was a difficult image to conjure up._  
  
 _She had long ago replaced her dreams of a life with Sam with images of a new life with Helena, but the thoughts never stopped there.  They had always transformed because where she had imagined her life with Helena like she had once imagined her life with Sam, she also imagined Helena's death like she had witnessed Sam's death._  
  
 _And that, Myka thought, was enough of a reason to never pursue that life._  
  
***  
  
Myka is jolted from her sleep by the sound of someone tampering with the doorknob to the apartment and Dickens goes flying in protest onto the floor and skits off into the hallway.  
  
“Fuck.”  Myka grabs her head to nurse a slight wine-induced headache just before the sound of someone jiggling the doorknob pulls her back to a state of urgency.  She leaves the bed and heads into the living room to retrieve her weapon from the kitchen counter where she had foolishly left it before pouring herself that third glass of wine.  
  
There’s little time to return back down the hall before Emily’s door clicks and begins to quietly, slowly creep open.  
  
“Hello?”  A tiny whisper floats into the room.  So small, in fact, that it sounds like a kid.  
  
Myka peeks around the corner from her stance in the kitchen and watches a short figure moving through the darkness.  
  
“Miss Lake?”  The tiny whisper calls out.  The figure shuts the door and Myka, realizing that this was more than likely one of Emily’s students, although why she was breaking into her apartment she can’t say, decides there is very little threat, but just in case...  
  
Myka flicks on the light switch and jumps out of the kitchen with her gun out but pointing toward the ceiling.  “Hands in the air!”  She yells.  
  
A petite girl with brown skin and long curly hair, who, Myka thinks, resembles Leena almost to a T (and she’s not just saying that because she’s Black) stares at Myka wide-eyed before her eyes finally roll into the back of her head and she collapses to the ground.  
  
“Well, shit.”  Myka sighs.  
  
Dickens mews at Myka from where he is perched on the back of the couch.  
  
“You don’t exactly make the greatest first impressions, either.”

 

  
  
_"Turn it off."_   
  
_The sadness in Helena's voice brought her back.  Myka had been lost in her thoughts and Helena had been waiting for her to say the thing that Myka knew she most wanted to hear._   
  
_"Helena."_   
  
_"Myka."  Helena shook her head and held her hands up in front of her when Myka stepped closer.  "Stop.  Just... if you have even a fraction of respect for me, Myka, you will just turn the damn thing off.  Right now."_   
  
_"Okay."  Myka picked up the orb and held it close to her.  "I'll turn it off, Helena, but first you're going to listen to me."_   
  
_And Helena couldn't exactly say no._   
  
_"And I'm saying this because I have respect for you."  Myka wiped at tears on her face.  "If, after everything we have been through, after Yellowstone, after you actually held a gun to my head for even a second after I placed the damn thing in your hands," Myka took in a deep breath, "if after all of this, you still see me standing here with you and you don't know how I feel about you, Helena Wells, then you are the stupidest woman alive.  Or half-alive, or not alive. Or whatever the hell you are right now."_   
  
_"Myka."_   
  
_"The last person I loved didn't live very long after I started loving him."  Myka cried.  "I want to keep you, Helena, for a very long time.  But the second the universe knows that, knows how I feel about you, it's going to throw it all back in my face and take you away from me._   
  
_"So, please forgive me if I can't say those words to you just yet.  It's not because I don't mean them."  Myka inhaled deeply.  "It's because you mean way too much to me."_   
  
_"Darling."  Helena's voice was softer, rage had long since dissolved from her face.  She stepped closer to Myka, now, moving quickly as she had her hands already on the orb._   
  
_"Helena."_   
  
_Myka closed her eyes as the warmth and the tingle returned to her lips and around her hands on the orb.  She took in one long breath, hesitating only momentarily, before turning off the device and opening her eyes just as the image of her best friend melted away._   
  
_"Goodbye."  She breathed._

 

  
  
Myka holsters her gun and walks over to the now still form in the middle of Emily Lake’s apartment floor.  The girl that lies there cannot be more than thirteen years old and has the know-how to pick locks, according to the tools she’s dropped by her side on the way to the floor.  Myka kneels beside her and slaps her cheeks lightly.  
  
The girl stirs, moaning quietly before suddenly opening her eyes.    
  
“Rise and shine.”  Myka smiles down on her.    
  
The girl, seeming to remember herself, scoots backward and away from Myka with wide eyes and heavy breath.  
  
“Don’t kill me.”  She says.    
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  Myka smirks.  
  
“Where’s Miss Lake?”  She gasps.  “Did you shoot her?"  
  
Myka stands up and tilts her head at the girl.  “Who are you and why are you breaking into Emily’s apartment?”  
  
“Who are _you_?”  The girl asks.  Myka puffs out a small laugh at her false bravado.  
  
“My name is Myka.  Myka Bering.  And you are?”  The girl eyes Myka for a moment before she stands to her feet.  
  
“Acucana.”  She glares.    
  
"Come again?"  Myka arches a brow.  She was not expecting the immediate drop into a Spanish accent when the girl had said her name.  
  
The girl sighs.  "Ana."  Her voice is filled with annoyance and she rolls her eyes before remembering herself.  “Why do you have a gun?”  
  
“I work for the Secret Service.”  Myka says.  “So, _Ana_ , again I’m going to ask you, why are you breaking into Emily’s apartment?”  
  
“Miss Lake is my teacher.”  The young girl answers.  
  
“Okay?  That doesn’t quite explain the burglary attempt.”  Myka bends down to pick up the girls forgotten tools and bounces them in her hands.  “Which you’re a little too good at for being, what, like twelve?”  
  
“I’m fourteen.”  Myka pockets the tools.  
  
“Okay.”  She moves to the other side of the couch.  “For some reason I thought Emily taught an older grade anyway.”  Myka falls back into the loveseat along the far wall,  allowing her previous exhaustion to creep back up on her.  She glances at her watch.  “It’s ten o’clock at night, do your parents know where you are?”  
  
“Miss Lake teaches year 11 and year 12 AP English and Literature.”  The girl informs her.  
  
“And you are?”  
  
“In year 11.”  
  
“I see.”  Myka nods.  “That explains your miniature Claudia-like qualities."  She says is mostly to herself but the girl gives her a quizzical look.  
  
The girl moves to where Dickens sits on the back of the couch and lifts a hand to his head and he purrs into the contact.  
  
“Are you Miss Lake’s girlfriend?”    
  
Myka smiles.  “Not really.”  
  
“So, like, a friend with benefits?”  
  
“Why aren’t you in bed?”  Myka ignores her question.  “Or is this like a new thing kids do these days?  Breaking into their teacher’s apartments?”  
  
“Miss Lake hasn’t shown up at school.”  The girl picks Dickens up into her arms.  
  
“She took a couple days off.”  
  
“I have after school tutoring with her on Fridays and she always tells me if she can’t make it.”  Ana narrows her eyes at Myka.  “Always.”  
  
“So, she had a family emergency.”  
  
The girl moves around to the other side of the couch and sits down across from Myka.  
  
“You’re lying.”  
  
“Okay, Steve Junior.”  Myka says under her breath.  
  
“I don’t know what that means.”  
  
Myka sits up straight.  “Emily is not here and, I’m sorry to tell you this, but she’s not coming back.”  
  
“You killed her, didn’t you?”  
  
“Do I look like a killer?”  Myka glares at the girl.  The girl is quiet for a long time, petting Dickens in her lap, before she shrugs.  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“I’m just cleaning up Emily’s apartment for her, so if you don’t mind...”  
  
“Or... Miss Lake broke up with you and you’re just a crazy ex-girlfriend trying to take all her stuff back.”    
  
Myka laughs really hard at that.  “You watch too much television.”  
  
The girl rolls her eyes.  Myka reaches into her back pocket for her phone.  
  
“What’s your parents phone number?  I’m sure they’re worried about you.”  
  
“My dad works night shift and my mom doesn’t have a cell phone because she died when I was three.”  
  
Myka sighs, "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Ana."   She tosses her phone back onto the couch.  “Do you live in the building?”  
  
“Two floors down.”  
  
“Okay, well.”  Myka smiles.  “It was nice meeting you.  I’m sure you can find your way out.  Goodnight.”    
  
Both the girl and the cat stare at her in silence.  
  
Myka stares back.  
  
Several very awkward seconds pass.    
  
“That’s usually what people say when they expect the other person to leave.”  
  
“She’s not coming back, is she?”  
  
“What is your obsession with Emily Lake?”  Myka says exasperated, leaning her had back into the couch and simultaneously noting that she is in good company.  
  
“She’s nice to me.”  The girl says matter-of-factly.  “Maybe you don’t know this, because you’re pretty, but high school sucks when you’re really smart and really small and really ugly.”  
  
Myka sits straight again and shakes her head at the girl with a smile on her face.  “First of all, by no means are you ugly.”  The girl arches a brow at her.  “Secondly, there’s something really interesting that happens after high school, Ana.”  Myka continues.  “It’s called real life, and you’ll learn very quickly that people who are assholes in high school don’t always make it that far after high school.  And people like you and me, yes me, I was a nerd, too, whose intelligence is highly underrated by her peers, will be much happier for staying true to themselves, despite all the bullshit.”  
  
The teenager just stares back at Myka for a while before finally sighing and quietly resuming her petting of Dickens.  
  
“And excuse my language.”  Myka waves her hand in the air.  
  
“If you see Miss Lake again,” the girl starts, “can you please tell her that I hope she makes it to my graduation?”  
  
Myka sighs, pulling her lips to the side and nodding slowly despite suddenly feeling overwhelmed with guilt.  “And when are you graduating, exactly?”  
  
“Next year.  In July.”  She says.  “I finish school this December, but the ceremony is in July.”  
  
Myka nods.  “Okay.”    
  
“You’ll tell her?”  
  
“Yeah.”  Myka sighs.  “If I see her, I will tell her.”  
  
With that, the girl stands to her feet, kisses the top of Dickens’ head and sets him back down onto the couch, despite all of his protests.  
  
“Can I have my pick back?”  She asks, holding out a hand to Myka.  
  
“No.”  Myka crosses her arms and shakes her head.  “They’re mine now and you need to stop breaking into people’s apartments.  How did you even learn to do that?”  
  
“YouTube, duh.”    
  
Myka smirks and stands to her feet.  “Go home.”  She says, walking the young girl to the door and opening it for her.  
  
“It was… interesting meeting you, Miss Bering.”  The girl says heading out of the door and down the hall.  
  
"Likewise."  Myka smiles after the young girl.  
  
Dickens mews his disappointment from the back of the couch and before Myka can offer a retort, an idea strikes her.  
  
“Oh, wait, Ana?”  She calls, peeking into the hallway.  The teenager is stopped just before the elevator and turns back to Myka.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Do you like cats?”  Myka asks hopefully, recalling the girls familiarity with Dickens.  
  
The girl shrugs.  “Not really."  
  
"Well, do you want one?"  Myka smiles.  
  
"Do you mean Dickens?"  Her face lights up.  
  
"Come by in the morning, okay?"  Myka nods.  "We'll talk more."  
  
"Okay!"  Ana grins as the elevator dings and the doors open.  She runs inside.  
  
"And try the doorbell next time!"  Myka yells down the hall, as the doors begin to close.  
  
"Okay!"

 

  
  
_Myka couldn’t sleep._   
  
_She couldn't even keep her eyes closed without shutting them tightly together._   
  
_Myka quickly found herself struggling to properly breathe.  She had been both angry and sad, with tears running down cheeks, a nose congested with sob-induced snot, her  face red hot and burning._   
  
_She'd clutched for hours onto that stupid black orb that held Helena hostage, debating whether or not to turn it on.  All the while knowing she would.  Eventually._   
  
_It was just a matter of time._   
  
_She turned on a lamp near her bed and sat at the edge.  She counted to ten maybe six or seven times before she could think up the words that she wanted to say to the other woman._   
  
_Then she activated the orb._   
  
_Helena appeared with her back facing Myka but Myka had not bothered looking up, unable to remove her eyes from Helena's feet on the floor.  She watched, through tears as the other woman's feet turned around slowly, and silence filled the room for several very long minutes._   
  
_Then Helena stepped closer to her, stood right before her, and knelt down into view.  She placed a hand over Myka's, still grasping onto the orb, and the familiar warmth and tingle caused Myka's pulse to quicken._   
  
_All of her words had been lost.  Whatever she had been planning to say was now gone._   
  
_Helena stayed quiet, then brought both of her hands to Myka's cheeks.  She closed her eyes at the sensation._   
  
_"I wish," Helena finally spoke, "I wish this touch were real, Myka.  But it's all I have."_   
  
_Myka sniffed then wiped at the moisture of her face, only to gasp and then sigh at the way her sudden movements disrupted the holographic image of Helena's arms in front of her._   
  
_"I'm sorry."  Myka sighed, finally.  "I'm sorry, Helena, you don't deserve this.  Not any of it."_   
  
_"Well," Helena smiled, "I kind of do."  The warmth against Myka's cheeks spread ever so slightly to her ears, into her hair, and behind her neck.  Helena inched her way closer, careful not to extend her touch to far into the space Myka occupied._   
  
_"I'll figure it out."_   
  
_"Figure what out?"_   
  
_"How to find you.  Wherever you are."  Myka breathed.  "I'll find you and the moment I get you back, I'll show you."_   
  
_"Myka."_   
  
_"All of the things that I can't bring myself to say to you, Helena."  Myka cried averting her eyes.  "I'll show you."_   
  
_"Darling, look at me."  Helena whispered, and Myka did, just as the other woman smiled.  "That moment may never come and that's okay."  Helena brought her hands down to Myka's over the orb now.  "It's okay because, at the very least, I can see you and talk to you and just," Helena sighed, or she appeared to sigh, the actual exhalation was absent any real breath, "just be here with you.  As long as that's what you want."_   
  
_Myka nodded.  "It is.  What I want."_   
  
_"Okay."  Helena whispered, nodding, too.  "Okay?"  She smiled, hopeful._   
  
_And Myka smiled, too.  "Okay."_   
  
_"Now."  Helena's smile fell into a smirk.  "Please, read me another book.  I haven't quite gotten my fill of your beautiful voice."_


	5. Helena: Giselle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will be handing out "I Survived After the After Chapter Five" buttons at the end of this chapter.

Months pass.   
  
Helena doesn't stop thinking of Myka and she has learned that it's impossible to even try.  Because the more she tries not to think about her, the more she thinks about her.  So, the best thing for Helena to do is to stop trying to not think about her.   
  
She lets her thoughts of the younger woman flit in and out of both her conscious mind and her dreams as they may.  She's resolved herself to this fate, much like she had resolved herself to her current fate of living in the too-large home of an 83 year old Ms. Baker.   
  
Or Ms. Baker's grandmother, as it were.   
  
Months have passed and she's grown to accept this new lifestyle of hers, because the only time she is not really thinking about Myka, is when she finally gets used to Giselle dragging her around town, forcing her to do mundane tasks, and partake in the activities of modern day folk.    
  
And Giselle has proven to be quite the persuasive little adventurer.  Even on Helena's dark days, she can manage to pull the woman out of bed and on to whatever remedial tasks she has planned for the day.   
  
On more than one occasion, she says rather sweetly, "I'm a surprisingly decent motivator.  I always seem to get what I want."  And somehow she still manages to sound modest.   
  
Helena wonders on numerous occasions if this is why the Regents chose her as her keeper.   
  
At first, it's just Helena and Giselle, and things are sometimes awkward because Helena slowly realizes that she does _not_ , in fact, know everything there is to know about the 21st Century and the way things work.  She's prideful and she frustrates easily because she hates to not know things, hates when she can't immediately figure things out, and she hates to feel inferior around strangers. 

But Giselle is patient.  This reminds her of Myka.   
  
They start off running simple errands.  Giselle takes Helena grocery shopping for the first time in her extended life.  This simple task makes Helena depressed because when she lags behind Giselle in the overwhelmingly overstocked and over-branded grocery aisles, all she sees is a tall slender body and wild brown curls. 

This reminds her of Myka.    
  
And it _should be_ Myka, teaching her how to grocery shop, but then she wonders if Myka actually knows how to grocery shop and rethinks, they should be learning this awful task together.   
  
Giselle takes Helena to the forensics lab she works at in Featherhead and introduces her to an overwhelming number of machines and technological advances that are named for men that Helena had once known to be alive.  She sees the way Giselle takes such pride in her job, checking and double checking all of her findings meticulously, allowing for no errors, writing conclusions and rounding out reports with clear and precise writings.  She even gets wildly excitable when she's successfully aided in closing out a case or nailing a criminal. 

This reminds her of Myka.   
  
Several days a week, Giselle makes dinner for Helena at her own apartment under the guise of teaching Helena how to cook, but Helena soon finds that it's an excuse for Giselle to indulge in a glass of wine and unwind after a particularly long day of looking through microscopes and wading around in Petrie dishes.   
  
About one month in, Helena meets Giselle's daughter who attends college out of state but returns home for Spring break and spends half of her time with Giselle and the other half with Giselle's ex-wife, Renee.   
  
Oh, and Helena learns that Giselle has an ex-wife.  Which leads to a whole new set of interesting problems that aren't really problems so much as they are _awarenesses_.

Helena decides that is a good word for them.  _Awarenesses._  
  
Giselle's daughter is intelligent and slightly unruly and a little dismissive when she meets her, but it reminds Helena of all the things her Christina could have been and how she would gladly take it for the chance to have her daughter back.    
  
Then she breaks down.    
  
Giselle finds her on her bedroom floor that same evening and, for the first time, she cradles Helena in her arms until the misery passes and the hurt subdues and the tears dry.   
  
And this, her willingness to be present to see Helena through her darkness, too, reminds her of Myka.    
  
Three months in, Helena finally concedes to meeting Giselle's mostly-divorced 40-something friends.  They're not as annoying as Helena has imagined, but she can still only take so much of their gossiping and mid-life crises.  Aside from Giselle, only one other woman has the intelligence to keep up with the type of conversation Helena loves to indulge in. 

And even this reminds her of Myka.   
  
After five months of being dragged around town, learning Giselle's work schedule, memorizing her phone number, driving her car, being gifted a spare key to her apartment, learning and frequently making her favorite tea, and listening to countless stories of her past as told by her grandmother, Goldie Baker, certain things start to become more inherently Giselle. 

Fewer things remind Helena of Myka.   
  
Helena finds that Giselle likes to wink quite a bit, so much so that, in the beginning, Helena thought it was involuntary.  She does it with everyone but especially children and especially Helena.  The Victorian begins to wonder if she should be insulted by her inclusion into this group but Giselle insists that she shouldn't.  She _really_ insists.   
  
Giselle indulges in a litany of forensics shows, both "real" and "unreal" and has managed to hook Helena onto a handful of her favorites.  Helena has never watched much television because she hasn't had the time nor the interest, also the fast paced imagery has often given her a headache.  But the forensics and crime dramas that she watches with Giselle are not nearly as chaotic a display as the movies and video games she had been previously exposed to with Claudia and Pete, so her 19th Century eyes are able to adjust more comfortably.   
  
Giselle is uniquely herself in other ways, too, and Helena is not so blind or depressed that she doesn't notice the frequency of winks, and touches, and so-called night errands.  There's also an increase in phone calls and the absurdity that is the existence of text messages, which Helena obviously despises.   
  
And Giselle knows this, but it is another thing that Helena comes to learn about Giselle.  The woman loves to grind her nerves in the most sickeningly sweet ways.    
  
White wine.  White wine is also Giselle.  And she'll chop up random fruits and drown them in her glass before they indulge in their shows and, if she's lucky, Helena won't argue about having to drive back to Goldie's that night.  If she's lucky, Helena will take her glass, sip it down, have another glass, sip that down, and then gladly take up space in a spare bedroom in Giselle's apartment.    
  
A bedroom that, as summer came, was being taken up by Giselle's daughter every other week, so Giselle wasn't getting quite so lucky to have Helena's company these days.   
  
  
Eight months passed and Helena had long ago found a task to not only keep her busy outside of spending time with Giselle and listening to Goldie's stories, but it kept her connected to the one thing she had completely forgotten that she was trying to avoid.   
  
Artie had contacted her three months earlier requesting her help in locating an artifact and she had not thought twice about agreeing to the task.  She hadn't realized how very restless for adventure she had become, and there were so few days now that she actively thought of Myka like she used to think of Myka.  In that "ready to pack her bags and run back to the warehouse" sort of way.    
  
Four months ago, Irene Frederic had made it clear to her that she was free to meet with the warehouse agents, if she had felt so inclined.  But there was always the danger of a cognitive time jumper hovering over her, threatening to take advantage of her proximity to one Myka Bering, and keeping her away.    
  
Also, she was certain the warehouse was still holding a bit of a grudge against her for the whole Warehouse 2 incident.   
  
So, she had taken on the task for Artie with little hesitation three months ago, because she needed that little bit of a connection to the warehouse, even if the relationship was love/hate, but the further she began to dig into her research, the more concerned she became about the things Artie was, or had been, getting himself into.   
  


 

  
  
"Is that an artifact?"  
  
Giselle is mysteriously and suddenly in Helena's bedroom, looking over Helena's shoulder, chuckling softly when Helena is startled and pushing at, turning over, and covering up papers and photos in a very poor attempt to hide her research.   
  
"Jesus Christ, Giselle."  
  
The other woman spins Helena around on her waist-height swivel chair, away from her desk, and arches a single brow at her expectantly.    
  
"You're dabbling in artifacts now?"  
  
Helena's skin flushes hot and red, both at being caught and the frustration of being silently intruded upon.  "Darling, I don't _dabble_ in things.  I am either an expert already, or I am about to become one.  And I'm just doing some research on vintage items for a friend."  
  
"A warehouse friend."  Giselle states.  
  
"A regular friend."  Helena lies.  Giselle squints at her then sets a hand at either side of the back of Helena's chair, leaving Helena trapped between her arms, and leans in close.  
  
"Helena, do you think I am stupid?"  
  
"I know you're not stupid, Giselle."  Helena lowers her eyes, running a nervous hand through her hair.  "I'm trying to spare you the inevitable misery that comes along with knowing more than you need to know about the goings on of Warehouse 13."  
  
She looks back up to Giselle and the woman's face softens as she sighs.   
  
"And what about you?"  Giselle asks, softening her voice, too.   
  
"Me?"  Helena questions.   
  
Giselle smirks.  "Yes, you.  What about Helena?  You always seem to be sparing everyone's feelings from all of the world's evils, but what about you and your feelings?"  
  
Helena, thoroughly amused, smiles and allows a small laugh to escape her.  But Giselle's smirk dissolves back into that serious look and the proximity, Helena realizes, is somehow _more_ nerve wrecking when she doesn't have a smile on her face.   
  
"I am quite capable of handling my life on my own."  Helena says it quietly.   
  
"Oh, and I am not?  I am an adult, Helena.  A very capable adult.  Born in the last century, no less."  Giselle challenges.  "I do not need to be spared my feelings.  Least of all by a woman whose feelings almost destroyed the entire world."  
  
"Giselle, don't you dare use that against me.  You weren't there and you have no id-"    
  
"Do you think your Myka Bering is incapable of taking care of herself?  Of handling her own feelings?"  
  
"I am warning you Giselle."  The threat is almost a whisper.   
  
"All of these months, you have been running away from the warehouse, from the only life you know, for the sake of sparing her feelings, Helena."  Giselle moves her hands to Helena's shoulders now and tightens her grasp.  "Did you ever for a second think that, oh, I don't know, _maybe_ she's a big girl and she can handle the truth?  That you could just be honest with her about how you feel?  That she can take care of herself and she doesn't need you dictating what she gets to be exposed to or... or... making decisions about her future, or your future together, for her?"  
  
Helena's mouth fell in protest halfway through Giselle's monologue.  She had meant to say something, to interrupt her, tell her she was wrong and that she was missing the point, she had no idea what she was talking about.  She meant to tell her how she could _never_ know what she was talking about because the thing she wasn't telling Myka wasn't just about how she felt _about_ Myka.  They had already been down that road and, as always, it had ended in confusion and tears and more goodbyes. 

The thing that she wasn't telling Myka _could_ very well bring ruin to their friendship.  A friendship that Helena honestly could not be sure even still existed.   
  
Then Helena realized something.  She realized exactly what Giselle was _trying_ to say and as she moved her mouth to try and prove that she had reached this conclusion all on her own (and therefore rendering Giselle's rant needlessly inappropriate, although she knew very well that it was not), the woman before her spoke that truth:  
  
"You and I both know, and maybe your Myka knows this, too, that the only person whose feelings _actually_ need sparing around here are yours, Helena."  
  
"Giselle."  
  
"And I get that you're afraid you might go off the deep end and land head first onto a pile of rocks, or Trident-first onto one rock in particular, I don't know, but if you think running away, to keep all of these feelings hidden from all of these people that you love and really just cannot fathom losing on anyone's terms but your own, is truly for their own good?  Myka's own good?  Even my own good?  Well, Helena Wells, you are a very _very_ stupid wo-."

Helena silences the other woman with her mouth against still-moving lips but in seconds they find renewed purchase and fall in sync with her kiss.  Time traveler's hands grasp at either side of a slender waist and palm hips, first over jeans but then against the warmth of bare skin, and she pulls gently and then greedily, urging a compliant body closer, and closer still, until thighs hit knees and then part unbidden.  Helena's arms encircle the the waist of the other woman and urge her further forward, pulling her up and onto her lap, their kiss never breaking or faltering.   
  
When the other woman settles, her hands find new hold in the tresses of Helena's raven black hair and wild fingers rake not quite gently against scalp, enticing a moan from lips that have not truly been touched in eight months.  And before then, one-hundred years.  Helena tightens her grip around the woman on her lap, pulling her closer, and kissing her deeper, gently at first, then hungrily as her mind makes feeble attempts to keep up with the need for what her body is craving.    
  
When she's sure, somewhere in her barely-coherent mind, that Giselle won't fall from her lap, she moves restless fingers to clutch the bottom of a blouse and yanks the thing up, past barely parting lips, over brown curls and throws it to some forgotten space on her bedroom floor.    
  
Helena's lips abandon Giselle's, leaving the other woman free to vocalize Helena's name and all of these new wants and needs, while these lips, too-long untouched, find a frenzied pulse just beneath the skin of an exposed neck.  The kiss she leaves there is rewarded with the barely audible half-utterance of Helena's name.   
  
"Hel..."  And as if to prove something, Helena's mouth opens wide and wet against that exposed section of the other woman's neck, sucking the pulsating skin into oblivion and eliciting the most intoxicating movement of Giselle's hips as they push further into hers.   
  
When she moans, Helena kisses the spot gently and whispers her name against wet skin.    
  
"Giselle."    
  
"More."  Is the response she barely understands before hungry lips again meet hers.  
  
"No."  Helena breathes when their lips barely part, she sinks her teeth into Giselle's bottom lip and it's more to bite back the urge to say a name that she shouldn't be saying in this moment, but suddenly these thoughts of Myka Bering are flooding into her mind and the name, balancing on the tip of a tongue that plays desperately against the lips of another woman, is begging to be spoken.    
  
"Helena."  
  
"I can't."    
  
Helena pulls her lips away and lowers her forehead to the exposed shoulder before her.  She kisses the skin of her chest, then moves to kiss the collar bone, tracing along the too prominent path to the center of Giselle's chest.  She kisses there, too, and up another invisible path to her neck, over her throat, and traveling the long way up to her chin.    
  
"I can't."     
  
Helena rests the bridge of her nose against Giselle's jaw line and stills momentarily to catch her breath.    
  
Finally, the name escapes her.    
  
"Myka."  
  
She realizes she hasn't spoken her name in months.  Myka Bering.  The love of her fucking life.  And she hasn't spoken her name in months.  Refused to talk to Giselle about her any further after the third or fourth cry fest she'd had in her presence.   
  
"It's Myka."  She breathes heavily.   
  
Giselle pulls herself from Helena's lap slowly, and takes three steps back.  Helena lowers her head into her hands and fights off tears that begin to well and burn.    
  
"Look at me, Helena."  Giselle says softly.  Helena does just as the older woman is pulling off tight jeans and stepping out if them, now abandoned on the floor.   
  
Helena takes in a deep breath at the sight because Giselle may not be Myka, but Giselle is beautiful in her own right.  Helena knows this of Giselle fully clothed and now she knows this of half-naked Giselle, standing before her in black lace panties and a bra to match.    
  
Helena has never seen anything like it and she stares for a long while just trying to breathe.   
  
Giselle moves her hands behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra, then she speaks again.  
  
"She's not here, Hel."  Helena inhales deeply and her entire body pulses with hastened blood flow.  " _I'm_ here.  And I need you."  She removes the bra slowly and holds it out in front of her just before letting the garment fall to the floor.  "For once in your life, Helena," she speaks with soft breath and steps back into the Victorian's space, pulling Helena's arms to rest around her bare waist and wrapping hers over the time traveler's shoulders, "allow yourself these feelings."  
  
Helena needs little more coaxing.  She stands and leans into this new kiss and with lips locked, she pushes Giselle to step backward and into her bed.  After most of Helena's clothes find the floor, she hovers over Giselle and stares down into wild green eyes, now so unlike that of Myka's that she sees no one but Giselle.   
  
"I love Myka Bering."  Helena says, her brows furrowed and eyes narrowing.  She doesn't know why she says it, maybe a last ditch effort to keep what's about to happen from happening, but it doesn't seem to sway the older woman, who simply smirks before kissing Helena softly.    
  
"I know you do."  She says.  "But right now, you're going to _make love_ to me."  
  
And Giselle _is_ a surprisingly decent motivator. 

She always seems to get what she wants.   
  


  
  
Helena is startled awake by the sound of her phone ringing and absently reaches across her bed to the nightstand, only to realize that her body is being weighed down by the nude form that is a remarkably well-tanned Giselle Baker, the half-Greek goddess who is wrapped entirely around her.  Brown curls sprawl across her pillows, a head rests softly over her shoulder, an arm resting along her abdomen and between her breasts, with the other woman's hand placed conveniently over her heart.   
  
Somehow Helena is hit with a sense of familiarity that warms her to her core, and she conjures up a fleeting image of Myka in her arms this way, but the ringing off to her side pulls her back to the task at hand.   
  
Giselle has her legs entwined with Helena's, one thigh pressed entirely against her center, and she slowly untangles them to give herself the extra two inches reach to her phone.   
  
"Hello?"    
  
Her voice sounds so awful, she thinks, that the person on the other end of the line has to question who they're calling.   
  
"Helena?"  
  
"Arthur?"  She tries to sit up and again remembers the sleeping form against her.  She lowers her voice.  "What's wrong?  Is Myka okay?"  
  
"Of course that's your first thought."  He grumbles.  "I'm checking in regarding the _thing_ that I tasked you to look into.  Have you found anything?"

"I've learned some things."  Helena says with a hoarse voice, still trying to break through the sleep.

"Good, good."  She imagines Artie palming his beard in the thoughtful way he does and smiles.  "Meet me at the B&B this afternoon."  
  
"You want me to come there?   To the bed and breakfast?"  She lowers her voice even more with those words.  
  
"Oh, perhaps you've forgotten how to clean your ears out in your time away from the warehouse.  I'll be sure to bring some Q-tips to our little meeting."  
  
Helena rolls her eyes but she's reluctant to bicker with Artie so early in the morning.  Especially after hearing about how well he vouched for her actions in saving the warehouse.  Although, she's fairly certain she hadn't actually done very much after they made it through the portal, she will take all the positivity she can get from Arthur Nielsen.   
  
"Right, okay."  Helena nods.  "I will be there."  
  
"I'm about to board a return flight.  And, uh, Pete and Myka are away on a retrieval.  So, you shouldn't have trouble with running into anyone."  
  
Helena's a mixture of both relieved and saddened by that because she wouldn't really mind running into Myka again, but she also wouldn't really mind not running into her again.   
  
"Fine, Artie.  I'll be there this afternoon."  
  
The body in her arms stirs and reaches around to pull Helena back into her.   
  
"Baby, who are you talking to?"   
  
_Baby_?  Helena's face twists.   
  
"Shhh, Darling, go back to sleep."  Helena pulls herself entirely from Giselle's grasp and leaves the warmth of the bed in favor of using the restroom.   
  
"Uh, did I catch you at a bad time?"  Artie's voice calls.   
  
"No, Arthur.  I will see you then."  And she hangs up the phone without another word.    
  
When Helena is done in the restroom, she returns to a half-sleep Giselle still sprawled across her bed.   
  
"Helena."  She calls softly.   
  
"Baby?  Really?  Is that supposed to be an endearing term in this century?"  
  
Giselle smiles.  "Sorry, Hel, it's what I always called Renee and, if you couldn't tell, I'm sort of missing her right now."  
  
"Why did you two even separate to begin with?"  Helena sits back down on the bed next to Giselle who rolls onto her back and stretches long limbs, fully exposing skin and breasts and the evidence of their night together masked in dark red spots over nearly every pulse point of her body.    
  
"We weren't happy when we were together.  We were barely functional."  Giselle sighs.  "Only when we were apart could we actually make something of ourselves.  We did what was best for Gianna."  
  
"Oh, sounds only vaguely familiar."  Giselle smirks and then sits up to meet Helena at eye level.    
  
"Are you going somewhere today?"  
  
"Uh, yes, I'm just going to go meet a friend.  For a late lunch."  
  
Giselle nods.  "A warehouse friend."  
  
Helena smiles and leans in close to Giselle to set a chaste kiss against her lips.    
  
"Despite your slightly _arousing_ speech last night, Darling Giselle," Helena kisses her again, "you should know that some things are just simply _my_ business."  
  
Giselle laughs softly at that.  "Touché, _Darling_."  She mimics Helena's accent with astounding accuracy.  "Touché."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands out "I Survived After the After Chapter Five" buttons*


	6. Myka: Intoxicating

Pete teases Myka on more than one occasion about the Emily/Helena stash she seems to have accumulated in her bedroom overnight.  He never noticed the difference in the clothes in her closet until the day Helena left wearing a very "Myka" blouse.  Then Myka had shown up to breakfast one day wearing a very "HG" waistcoat, and he had been relentless in his accosting ever since.

  
  
The first couple of weeks after Helena leaves are what Myka will comfortably refer to as an ongoing hellish nightmare if emotional discourse.  
  
She returns from Colorado Springs with fresh annoyance from her parents’ constant bickering and nagging about the state of her health, her lack of a love life, the apparently infinitesimal chance of their ever becoming grandparents.  She literally bites her tongue to refrain from telling them all of the things she would love to say about her health, it’s fine, her love life, it was perfect for one solitary night, and their lack of grandchildren, they had better start looking to Tracy for that wish fulfillment.  
  
Myka had originally planned to stay with her parents for a week, but ended up leaving after two days.

  
  
Back at the B&B, she checks her phone, she check her emails, she checks the mailbox.  She doesn’t know why she checks any of these things, she’s not even sure Helena has any of her contact information and she’s more than sure that Helena, damned and determined to right whatever wrongs she thinks she’s done _this_ time, wouldn’t contact her even if she had the ability to.  
  
And from what she had gathered from Mrs. Frederic, Helena had probably been barred from contacting her anyway.  So, there was that small little wonder of hope, that Helena wasn’t willfully avoiding her, keeping her going.  
  
But some days that didn't matter.  Some days the only thing she thought about was the many ways and the many reasons the universe seemed to move to separate her from the people she loved.  And maybe not so much the people she loved as much as the people she was _in_ love with.    
  
She was in love with Sam and he had died.  She is in love with Helena, and God only knows where she is in the world.  
  
And while Myka is already crying at night over the memories of Helena's lips against hers, and Helena's hands in hers, and Helena's fingers in her, she's suddenly reminded that Helena, wherever she is, will probably move on.  The thought compounds her sadness.  
  
Helena, who has never been shy about her sexuality, Helena who is a charmer, Helena who loves to love, and loves to touch, and is obviously quite skilled at being a lover, judging from that night so many months ago.   Helena will prevail, and she will find someone, and she will move on, because she can move on.  Separated from the warehouse, it was more than possible.  
  
Then her mind wanders.  Had she been the first since Helena's return?    
  
Impossible, she thinks.  Not with the way Helena had touched her.  Not after more than 100 years in bronze.  
  
All at once, Myka will find herself laughing over the absurdity of it all.  She'll laugh so hard that tears come and then she'll cry all over again.  And she'll cry until her thoughts relent and she succumbs to the exhaustion of thinking so many absurd thoughts every night before bed.  
  
And her life, she thinks, her whole entire life is absurd.  
  
It is absolutely absurd.  
  
  
  
As the weather grows warmer, the artifact activity picks up with such a force that Pete and Myka, at one point, have spent twenty consecutive days away from the warehouse and the B &B.  And aside from the fact that at least three of the artifacts they were after had caused fatalities, Myka was glad to have the distraction.  Even more glad to be out of South Dakota.  
  
Then there's New Orleans.  
  
Myka is in New Orleans on an all-too-rare retrieval partnership with Steve Jinks.  They snag and bag their artifact and book an early evening flight back to Featherhead that allows them enough time to indulge in a couple of drinks and a quick dinner before heading home.  Because no one goes to New Orleans to not eat. 

And it's a rare thing, for Myka, because she has Pete and he has his sobriety, and she never wants to get in the way of that.  So she can forgo a random drink when he's around, but now, tonight, she's thankful to have a cold beer in her hands, as well as the company and the conversation of Steve. 

She doesn't intend to, but she finds herself taking full advantage of the fresh set of ears.  
  
"So, you and HG."  Steve grins.  Myka smirks, takes a sip of her beer.  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
"Yeah?"  Steve asks.  "Are you forgetting my _ability_?"  
  
Myka sighs and shakes her head.  
  
"Man, I love you but sometimes I really hate you."  
  
Steve just grins.    
  
"Let me rephrase."  Myka nods.  "It's not _nothing_ , but it can't be anything."  
  
The look Steve gives her is questioning but he doesn't say anything.  Just stares.  Myka shrugs and then shuts her eyes tight and shakes her head again.  
  
"That's all I've got, Steve."    
  
She opens her eyes to him, a smirk playing across his face.  
  
"It's okay, we don't have to talk about it."  He laughs softly.  "It's probably rude of me to ask anywa-"  
  
"It's just that she always does this and it drives me absolutely fucking insane."  Myka takes another sip and she doesn't mean to, but she slams her beer bottle back to the bar.  "She's always finding a way to drive a wedge between us.  She doesn't think she deserves to be happy.  I don't think there is a person on this planet that punishes themselves more than Helena Wells punishes herself."  
  
"And you're sure she'd be happy with you?"  
  
Myka tries to soften the glare that she's now emitting in Steve's general direction.  
  
"Okay, okay."  He says, holding his hands up in the air.  "Stupid question."  
  
Myka sighs and throws her head back.  
  
"Or maybe it's not.  I shouldn't have let her go, right?  Maybe I should have demanded to go with her?  Maybe she thinks I gave her up?"  
  
"So, her leaving was voluntary?"  
  
"No."  Myka shakes her head.  "It wasn't.  But her staying away."  Now she's nodding.   " _That's_ voluntary."  
  
"And you know this, how?"    
  
"Mrs. Frederic."  
  
"Mrs. Frederic?"  
  
"She told me that she gave Helena the okay to contact us almost four months ago."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"She seemed surprised that she hadn't."  
  
Steve widens his eyes. "It is surprising."  
  
"But, like I said," Myka smiles and drinks down the rest of her beer, "she is such a masochist."  
  
"But she's _your_ masochist."  Steve smiles at her softly.  
  
Myka pouts and smiles, her eyes welling with tears as a burst of laughter escapes her in her attempts to keep them at bay.  "Yes, she is _my_ masochist."  
  
  
Myka refuses to ever talk about or acknowledge the one time she was "over" Helena and decided to indulge in the attention given to her by a professional hockey player and ended up pregnant for two hours.  
  
It may have been Pete's fault for loving her, but it was still too much of a coincidence and the experience far too fresh on her mind.  Also, the pregnancy dreams were occurring at an exponentially alarming rate.

She decides to put of dating men for a very long time.  
  
  
  
Myka almost loses Pete on the rusting case and, because of this, she nearly forgets the fleeting image of a familiar face in the background of their last call to Artie on the Farnsworth.  
  
  
  
"I saw Helena."  
  
Pete looks over at her from his position behind the wheel.  They're driving from the airport in Featherhead, back to the B&B, and it's late but not so late that Pete hasn't been going on for the past half hour about hitting up the Chinese food restaurant as soon as they hit Univille.  
  
Myka had interjected that little gem about Helena right in the middle of him _actually_ wiping drool from his face while talking about all of the sweet and sour pork he was going to devour.  
  
"What?  Wait, back in West Virginia?"  Pete asks incredulously.  "Did you meet up with her or something?   What happened?"  
  
Myka shakes her head but stays silent.  
  
"Mykes?"  
  
"She was at the B &B.  When Mrs. Frederic yelled at us over the Farnsworth."  Myka licks her lips and then presses them together tightly.  "I'm positive it was her, Pete.   I'm... more than positive."  
  
"Why would she suddenly be at the B&B?"  Pete asks.  
  
"Why was Mrs. Frederic there, Pete?  It's not like she drops in just to say hello.  And she sounded pretty aggravated, something must be going on."  
  
"You're right."  Pete agrees.  "She usually shows up right around the time I start to get my vibes.  Plus, Artie has been acting a little coo-coo cachoo, if you know what I mean."  
  
"But you don't have a vibe now?"  Myka arches an expectant brow at Pete.    
  
He stills momentarily before he twists around in his seat for a moment, shifting from side to side.  "Wait, wait..."  
  
" _Pete_?"  Myka raises her brows suspiciously as Pete rubs his belly momentarily and then, and she's already rolling down the window, he let's out the loudest burp and Myka is positive that she can see an actual cloud of toxic filth floating from his mouth.  
  
"Nope, just gas."  
  
"Disgusting, Pete."  Myka sticks her head out of the window.  "Just get us home."  
  
"Wait, but we're still stopping by for Chinese right?"  
  
Myka socks him.  "Jesus!"  
  
"Helena could be at the B &B and you just want to eat, Pete?!"  She cries.  "Take me home!"  
  
"All right, all right."  He huffs out a heavy breath.  "Ooh, that woman has you crazy."  
  
  
  
The B&B is quiet upon her return.    
  
Pete only stops long enough to drop Myka off before he speeds back to town to pick up his order before the restaurant closes.  Myka stands in the main sitting room of the B&B trying to make sense of the image she saw earlier that day on the Farnsworth.  
  
For a second she considers getting the durational spectrometer but, not even taking into consideration how pissed Artie would be, she is fully aware that it's been far longer than five hours since the call.    
  
If Helena had been here earlier in the day, she isn't here anymore.   But Myka has a thought and moves, perhaps too quickly, to the stairs and takes them up, two at a time.  She turns into the hall toward her bedroom door and notices that it sits slightly ajar, and she cannot help the grin that stretches across her face.  
  
"Helena?"  She enters her room and flicks on the light.    
  
Empty.  
  
But the aroma that fills her lungs almost brings her to her knees.  
  
"Helena."  First she smiles but as her mind begins to wander, her faces falls into sadness.  
  
Myka shuts her bedroom door, stepping further into her room, and the smell grows stronger.  She gets light-headed again.  Her feet move her thoughtlessly across the room and she falls onto her bed, and curls immediately into her pillow.    
  
The smell of Helena from so many months before had dissipated long ago, but there is no mistaking the newness of the scent on her pillows.  She breathes in deeply.  Helena has been here, in her room.  In her bed.    
  
She takes in another deep breath, burying her face into her pillow.  And then the tears come and they are relentless.  She sobs uncontrollably and there are so many reasons why, so many questions that need answering.    
  
Helena had been in her room.  Why hadn't she stayed?  Why had she been in her bed?  Why did she leave her scent on everything and just walk away?  When had she left?  Where did she go.  Had she left a note?  A phone number?  Anything?  
  
She can't be far, Myka thinks.  Myka hopes.  Thought she wouldn't know where to even begin looking.

Featherhead?  
  
  
  
When Myka can no longer hold her eyes closed as tightly as she has been, she opens them to the dim lighting of her bedroom.  Through bleary eyes, she scans the room for something, anything, and eventually her eyes land on it.    
  
She removes herself from the bed, a pillow still clutched close to her body, and sits at her desk.  There, on top of the still unframed photo of her and Helena from two years ago, sits the wooden puzzle that Pete had managed to destroy with a single touch, solved and whole again.    
  
A puff of laughter escapes Myka's lips and she smiles, pulling a leg up into the chair and burying her face back into her pillow.  
  
"God damn you, Helena Wells."  She laughs through her tears.  "I guess this is another goodbye."


	7. Helena: Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a nod to Kuba65. You will know it when you read it.

_My Darling Myka._  
  
 _I love you beyond measure, and the time I have spent with you tonight will forever play on my mind.  I will never forget us, together.  And I will never forget you._  
  
 _Not the way that you feel in my arms, not the way that you look at me, not the way I come completely undone in your presence._  
  
 _I will never forget your beauty, your touch, your scent.  The taste of you against my palette.  The sound of my name falling on soft breath from those beautiful lips._  
  
 _My senses are forever numbed by and eternally grateful for the experience of you._  
  
 _I will never know anything quite as intoxicating as the high that is getting to know every inch of your body and the familiar comfort of engaging that beautiful brain of yours in conversation between all these intimate moments we share._  
  
 _I will never know anything or anyone as exquisite as you._  
  
 _Please, take care of yourself, Myka._  
  
 _And maybe, one day, you will allow me the pleasure of calling you mine._  
  
 _Always,_  
 _Helena_  
  
  
Their meeting had clearly been disbanded without any official word.  Mrs. Frederic just left with Leena close behind her, and after Artie had decided to give her one final reprimand for snitching on him, and she only now thinks that it will probably be his last, she was left alone in the B &B dining room.    
  
It must have been some sort of fluke, them leaving her there.  It was too easy, too close to her grasp to be real.  It must have been a trap because nothing about Helena's proximity to this place had ever been a comfort to her.  
  
Nothing except...  
  
"Myka."    
  
After staring at the empty dining room for what seems like an hour, Helena now finds herself in the foyer, at the bottom of the staircase, gripping the wood rail and looking up with a great deal of anticipation clutching at her insides.    
  
She says the other woman's name as if she would actually be able to hear her, even if she had been home.  She's gone now, though, and Helena, so close to the so many things belonging to the enigma, is internally battling herself against the urge to climb those steps.  
  
Just then, the front door swings open and Leena comes bounding through.  
  
"There you are."  Leena's eyes seem to focus further on Helena and her positioning at the stairs.  Her eyes widen and she looks now, not directly at Helena, but seemingly at the space above Helena's head.  "Wow."    
  
"Leena."  Helena acknowledges her.  "I was just-"  
  
"You don't have to explain anything to me, Helena."  Leena smiles at her knowingly, eyes fixed to Helena's now.  "Your aura is," she shakes her head and then grins, "just go."  
  
Right.  Helena had forgotten about Leena's ability to see auras.  In fact, she had never had much of an opportunity to talk at length with Leena, so had made it a point to be particularly conversational with her today.  
  
"No, I mean, if Mrs. Frederic needs me to-"  
  
"You drove here, right?"  Leena asks.  Helena nods. "So, meet us at the warehouse  when you're ready."  
  
"Okay."  
  
And with that, Leena turns on her wedges and heads back out the door flashing a final grin at Helena.  
  
Helena doesn't hesitate quite as long at the bottom of the stairs now.  She moves up them with a quickness that, if Myka had been around to see, she's sure the younger woman would have laughed at her slight desperation.    
  
In seconds, she's at Myka's door praying it isn't locked, knowing it isn't locked because she knows Myka doesn't lock her door unless she's actually in her room.    
  
Helena breathes in deeply and turns the knob.  The door clicks open and she sighs.  Her palm gently against the cool wood pushes it further open as she prepares herself to enter the familiar space that is Myka Bering's bedroom.  And when she does, she smiles and her smile is too wide.  So wide it hurts in fact.    
  
Tears come immediately but she wipes at them before they fall and straightens her face in an effort to keep any more tears at bay.  
  
"Myka."  The name barely escapes her on a sigh.    
  
She moves immediately across Myka's bedroom, hesitating just before her bed, then sitting on the side cautiously.  Helena reaches a hand out toward Myka's pillow and sets it there, palm against cool cloth, and takes a few seconds to collect herself from the dizzy spell that the contact induces.    
  
She lowers herself into Myka's bed, laying against one pillow and pulling the other pillow into her arms and hugging it closely.    
  
"Oh, Myka."  She breathes in the sent of the other woman and she can no longer hold in her tears.  She shuts her eyes tight and buries her nose into the scent of Myka in her arms, the closest thing she's had to lying with the other woman for two years.  
  
She thinks about the lost night, her twenty two hours of lost time, and imagines Myka actually in her arms.  She imagines Myka curled up into her, her nude frame wrapped around her just as Giselle's had been not too long ago.  She imagines Myka with her face laying hidden in Helena's neck, she imagines the kisses Myka would give her there.     
  
She tightens her grip on the pillow in her arms and presses her lips to cool silk.   She kisses the pillow, imagines it transferring to Myka in her sleep that night.  
  
Her tears still fall.  They fall steadily, wetting the pillow beneath her head, until Helena's body relaxes entirely into the other woman's bed and her breathing steadies and her imaginings relent.  
  
And Helena falls asleep.  

  
  
  
Helena startles awake at the sound of Pete the Ferret rustling around in his cage.  She glances at her watch.  Twenty minutes has passed since she first stepped into Myka's room.    
  
She sighs clutches the pillow close to her once more, kissing it again, before conceding to putting Myka's bed back together.    
  
It's then, while fixing her covers and replacing pillows, the Helena spots her journal tucked between the mattress and the headboard.   She reaches for it with a smile on her face and hugs it close to her, too.    
  
She moves to Myka's desk, sitting and smiling at the very obviously Myka organization of everything.  The only thing out of place is a collection of wooden puzzle pieces in a clear tumbler glass.  Helena reaches for the glass and pours the contents out over the table and smiles.  
  
"Well, this simply won't do, will it?"  She sighs.    
  
It takes her less than one minute to nearly complete the thing before realizing there is a piece missing.   She scours the floor around her with her eyes but as soon on her hands and knees, searching under the desk, behind a small waste paper basket, behind Myka's door, under Myka's bed, and eventually back to the desk.  
  
Somehow, she finds the piece wedged in the space where the back of Myka's desk meets the wall.    
  
She sighs over the small victory and finishes the puzzle with a renewed sense of accomplishment.    
  
"There you are."  She smiles.  
  
Her eyes land on the picture of her and Myka from two years ago and her breath catches.    
  
Helena hasn't seen a picture of Myka in months.  Not since she happened upon a random photo in an online news article where in Myka and Pete had been captured in the background, no doubt in the midst of an artifact investigation.    
  
She had stared at her computer screen for hours after stumbling across that photo.  She saved it in an encrypted folder and, on some really bad nights, nights where she was so close to relenting and driving to the B&B and knocking down doors to get to Myka, she would seek out the photo and gaze at it for the longest time.  Reminding herself what was at stake.  Reminding herself who was at risk with her proximity.    
  
One night, she had made it as far as the driveway to the B&B before she built enough resolve to turn back around and head back home.  
  
And then she had pulled out the big guns.  Called Giselle when she was halfway back to Featherhead, told her to chill a bottle of wine, and cue one of their yet-to-be-binge-watched shows.  
  
It was the last time she ever fully broke down to Giselle about Myka.

  
  
  
Helena wipes at tears on her face and sets the photo back down on the desk, placing the small wooden puzzle down over it, covering their faces, realizing then that Myka would notice every tiny detail of moved and misplaced and redone things in her bedroom.  
  
Helena turns her attention to her journal and opens it up to the most recent entry.  It's Myka's handwriting.  She flips back, past several short entries in Myka's writing before she finally finds her last journal entry.  
  
  
The handwriting is hers but she doesn't remember writing this entry.  It's undated and she can only assume, by the context, that it's from her missing night.  
  
Her handwriting is telling Myka goodbye.  In so many words, she tells Myka goodbye in a way that sounds so final that it sends chills through Helena's entire body.  And not, Helena thinks, the good kind of chills.  She decides not to dwell on the implications of that goodbye. 

She reads on.  
  
After that, Myka's numerous entries begin.  
  
  
 _Helena._  
 _You're gone.  Again._  
 _Why is this a_ thing _for us?_  
 _I love you._  
 _MYKA_  
  
 _Helena._  
 _I hope you're as happy as Mrs. Frederic has said._  
 _You deserve happiness.  Wherever you are._  
 _Allow yourself to be happy._  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
 _Helena._  
 _Weeks have passed since I last saw you._  
 _Somehow I thought this would be easier, because of_  
 _what we shared.  Somehow, I thought it would_  
 _quell these feelings.  It's only gotten worse._  
 _I kind of need you._  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
 _Helena._  
 _Today, I hate you.  Wherever the hell you are._  
 _And this is stupid but I actually broke down in front of_  
 _Pete last night.  And it was so bad that I let him hold_  
 _me all night because I just needed someone.  I needed_  
 _that embrace.  And all I could think is that you should_  
 _have been the one with your arms wrapped around me._  
 _Not Pete.  He's going to be treating me like a_  
 _porcelain doll for the next goddamn month._  
 _I really hate you right now._  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
 _Helena._  
 _I lied.  I still love you._  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
 _Helena._  
 _This kid died today.  Saving his brother._  
 _He actually sacrificed himself to save his terminally ill brother._  
 _It makes this so-called pain I have over you seem so fucking juvenile._  
 _This kid killed himself to save his younger brother._  
 _And I'm crying because you're fucking gone again?_  
 _Like you were ever here in the first place?_  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
 _Helena._  
 _Fuck it.  I love you.  I miss you.  I'm hurting.  Where are you?_  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
 _Helena._  
  
 _I was thinking about dating.   Not thinking about doing it, just thinking about it in general.  I was thinking about Pete and Kelly and how well that whole dating thing worked out for them.   So, I stopped thinking about dating._  
  
 _Then we went to Canada._  
  
 _There was this hockey player, Mike, who happened to be the most cocky piece of shit on the ice.  Intolerable, really.  But in true Myka fashion, I tend to like people that I probably shouldn't because they're taken, or they're damaged, or they're literal pieces of shit, or maybe it's just because they're there._  
  
 _I mean, physically present seems as good a quality in a lover as any, right?_  
  
 _But, if I'm speaking honestly, the most intriguing part about Mike was that, for the short time we were in each other's presence, I wasn't thinking about you.  I wasn't hurting or missing you or hoping to run into you or hating you for loving you._  
  
 _I just wasn't thinking about you.  Period.  And that, I think, is a very appealing second quality in a lover._  
  
 _So, we kissed.  Rather, he kissed me, but I didn't exactly not kiss him back.  And it wasn't magical.  It wasn't you.  But it was nice and it was new and it wasn't you._  
  
 _Then Pete whammied me and I got pregnant._  
  
 _That sounds awful but what I mean to say is, Pete Lattimer, my best friend, seems to love me enough that when he envisions me carrying his child in the presence of an artifact, I am suddenly with child._  
  
 _But he doesn't seem to love me enough to realize I would never in my life voluntarily go through the ninth month of pregnancy that I experienced for two hours that day.  Or any other numbered months of pregnancy, much less produce a child from betwixt my legs and then be responsible for emotionally destroying said child for the next eighteen years of its life.  (And then some if we're using anecdotal evidence from the Bering family tree of fucked up kids.)_  
  
 _So, I was pregnant and the pregnancy made me think of you because sometimes I forget that you were pregnant.  I don't forget your child, or her importance to you, but I forget how she came to be and, to be honest, I don't even know how she came to be.  And I try to see you pregnant, through all of these states of pregnancy and giving birth.  Giving birth in a time before giving birth was even safe.  Is it even safe now?   Giving birth before drugs and decent hospitals and neonatal care and..._  
  
 _The image of you carrying a child, birthing a child, becoming a mother, raising a child.  They only strengthen the admiration I have for you as a woman.  Not just the love I have for you as Helena Wells, but the way I look up to you as the force that you have always been in this world.  Not only to me but to everyone around you._  
  
 _I hope, wherever you are, the people you know can appreciate the amazing force that you are, Helena Wells._  
  
 _So, to recap, the things I need in a lover are:_  
  
 _1.  Actually present.  (Subcategories: not dead, projected, or vanished.)_  
 _2.  Makes me not think of you.  (Subcategory: is not you.)_  
 _3.  Won't use my body as a vessel for procreation, accidental artifact or not.  (No subcategory, that's pretty self explanatory.  Scratch that, subcategory: not Pete.)_  
  
 _I think it's safe to say that you cannot fulfill two of the three of these necessities and are, logically, not an ideal suitor for me._  
  
 _But then again, when have I been known to think logically in my love life?  Also, I think, perhaps, strong independent female Victorian time traveler and science fiction author (or co-author, I haven't quite figured that one out yet) tends to trump any and all reason when it comes to choosing lovers._  
  
 _And you are my lover, Helena._  
  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
 _Helena._  
 _Note for the future, if you want to get me to talk more,  
just add wine. __Apparently._  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
And the final note.  
  
  
 _My Helena._  
 _It has been nine months and_  
 _I am not okay with this.  I am not okay._  
 _Why am I still waiting?_  
 _Why am I still waiting for you?_  
 _I once thought I was in love with_  
 _a masochist.  You, the elusive woman who,_  
 _in all of her century of pain, could never_  
 _allow herself to love again.  To enjoy love_  
 _again.  To stay and to love me._  
 _But now._  
 _Now I'm starting to think that I_  
 _am the masochist._  
 _And you, my love, are the sadist._  
 _Why am I still waiting for you, Helena?_  
 _Why am I still waiting?_  
 _And how do I still love you?_  
 _How do I still love at all?_  
 _Yours, forever it would seem,_  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
Helena does not overlook the water damaged pages.  She, in fact, contributes to the crinkled paper and running ink with her own unwanted tears.  The entire read, she thinks, was more than she could handle, but the last entry, dated only days before, had been the literary hand that was slowly ripping her heart out of her chest.  
  
With little thought, she plucks up a pen from Myka's neatly arranged desk and sets it to paper.  Her penmanship, she thinks, is atrocious, but she doesn't risk losing the words she wants to say just to spare Myka a few illegible characters.  And when she's done writing, she takes in a deep breath, gently replaces the pen to the color coordinated order it had previously been in, and closes the journal.  
  
She places the infamous photo and the newly assembled puzzle on top of the journal and sits back in the chair, letting go of a heavy sigh.  She shakes her head and wipes more tears from her eyes.  She twists her lips to the side and bites down on her bottom lip for a moment.  
  
"Okay."  She breathed, nodding.  "It's time to leave, Helena."  
  
  
 _Myka._  
  
 _Perhaps you're right.  I am the sadist.  It would explain a great deal about me, not just now, today, or in the past, but also in the future.  Only a sadist would do the things that I have done to you, am doing to you currently, will do to you someday, and think it was for your best interest._  
  
 _For the record, I still think it is for your best interest.  And I apologize, Love, that you have no idea what I am talking about.  It's not for lack of intelligence because you, Myka Bering, are the most intelligent woman that I know.  It's just for lack of a specific knowledge and, Myka, I hope and I pray that you can believe me when I tell you that this is all very much for you._  
  
 _It's for me, too, but it's mostly for you._  
  
 _And maybe that just adds to the sadism, the pain, the sadness that I have apparently sentenced us both to endure for a lifetime.  But it still does not compare to the risk I take when I'm near you.  How many times have you almost perished because of me?  How many times, Myka?  Make a list of that._  
  
 _I can't do that to you again.  I refuse._  
  
 _So, please, Myka, stop waiting.  Move on.  I have and you should, too._  
  
 _H.G._  
  
  
Helena hates to lie to Myka.  She hates to leave her bedroom.  She hates to leave the B &B.  She hates going to the warehouse and dawdling around with Mrs. Frederic and Artie and Leena for hours on end, and she hates, even more, stepping into the dark vault behind Artie's back after he has gone.  And when Mrs. Frederic tells her that she has to leave with the astrolabe, that she has to stay away, she tries to hate Artie for what he's done, playing with the timeline, and she almost hates Mrs. Frederic, too, but she finds it impossible.

But most of all, she hates that, despite the ultimatum that Mrs. Frederic gives to her, she cannot leave without seeing Myka one last time.


	8. Myka: Goodbye

"You stayed."  
  
Myka's voice is soft, a whisper.  A disbelieving whisper almost in Helena's ear, because she's sitting that close to her.  One hand is holding tightly to Helena's, the other wrapped around Helena's arm, as if preemptively stopping her from running away.    
  
"I can't _stay_."  Helena whispers in return. "Myka."  
  
Myka tries very hard to work through the sudden chill that her name on Helena's voice causes within her.  
  
"But you're here."  Myka is breathless.  She squeezes Helena's hand in hers and says, through tears, "you're _actually_ here."  
  
Helena smirks.  "I am."  
  
And Myka wants to know.  "Why?"  
  
Helena looks away at the question.  "I wanted to see you.  Before I go."  
  
“So, you _are_ leaving again?"  
  
Helena looks back at Myka but doesn't say anything.  Tears continue to roll down Myka's cheeks and she sighs, shrugs, then laughs softly.    
  
"Why would I expect anything else from you, Helena?"  
  
"Myka."  Helena starts but stops just as quickly.  Myka is shaking her head and wiping tears from her own face.  
  
"It's okay."  Myka smiles.  "You've moved on, right?  You must have built a whole new life for yourself in nine months.”  
  
Nine months.  Myka laughs internally at the thought of Helena being gone for nine months and returning with a new life.    
  
 _Rebirth_ , she thinks.  
  
"Myka, stop."  Helena's voice is resolute but not harsh and Myka does stop.  Then Helena is releasing herself from Myka's hold and standing to her feet, moving across the bedroom.  She stops beside Myka's desk and sets down the journal that she has been clinging onto.   She runs a hand through her hair and turns further away.  
  
Myka lets go of one long, heavy sigh because at least Helena is not out the door.  At least she is still standing here.  
  
"Don't try to make it sound so easy.  It hasn't been easy."  
  
"But you _have_ a new life."  Myka shakes her head before these untruthful words escape her lips, "Helena, I am happy for you."  She swallows back more tears.  "You wanted to get away from the warehouse.  You _needed_ that."  
  
Helena turns back toward Myka, takes two steps closer before stopping then wraps her arms around herself protectively.    
  
"From the warehouse, yes."  Helena says softly.  "From myself also."  Then shaking her head, "But not from you, Myka.  I’m loathe to spend any amount of time away from you.  But I..."  
  
Helena seems to shake the last of that thought away.  
  
Myka blinks back more tears and wipes at her face and her nose and tries hard to hold back the torrential downpour of moisture that is just one heart crushing look from Helena away. And the silence between them, with Helena's eyes still fixed on her and her arms still wrapping tightly around herself and her still _actually_ being present, is making _not_ crying a difficult task.  
  
So Myka stands now, too, and approaches Helena slowly, cautiously, until the only space between them is occupied by the brushing of Myka's borrowed blouse against Helena's jacket.  
  
In Helena's reluctance to speak, Myka reaches for the other woman's scarf, slowly pulls the fabric from her shoulders, and sets it over the back of her desk chair.  When Helena doesn't protest, Myka bites her lip and moves to free Helena from her jacket, hands pushing leather from Helena's shoulders, down her arms, and to the floor.    
  
Myka wraps her hands around Helena's wrists.    
  
"I can't stay."  Helena says again, even more softly than the first time.  Myka knows she's speaking to herself more than she is speaking to Myka.  
  
"I know."  Myka nods.  "But since you're already here..."  Myka allows her voice to trail off as she brings her lips to rest gently against Helena's.  
  
The soft whimper that escapes Helena mid-kiss forces Myka to smile until they part and when she sees that Helena's eyes remain closed and tight and barely holding back moisture, her smile softens again.    
  
"You would think we've never kissed before."  Myka teases softly.  
  
"It's been a long time."  Helena breathes.  Myka twists her lips to the side as she watches Helena steady herself with still-closed eyes.  
  
"I keep thinking about that look on your face," Myka begins speaking softly and trailing the tips of her fingers up the skin of Helena's now exposed arms, "when you left.  The last day that I saw you."  
  
Now Helena's eyes are open and she's watching Myka curiously.  Myka, who brings her hands to palm Helena's cheeks and moves in close, kissing her again.  
  
“You looked so hurt.  Pained.  Betrayed, almost.  It’s the last time I saw you, so it's the most difficult expression to try and forget.  And seeing you now, in front of me, with this new sadness in your eyes," Myka kisses Helena again, chaste and sweet, "I'm not quite sure which expression I would rather remember you by."  
  
The next kiss is deep and Myka moves her body against the other woman's body, and lowers still-warming hands to either side of Helena's neck, just below her jaw line.  She can feel Helena's lips trembling against hers, the woman is completely shaken and even takes a step back to balance herself.  
  
Myka can't help wondering where and when Helena Wells had managed to become such a nervous wreck under her touch.  
  
Myka only moves deeper into the kiss and further into Helena, eventually parting only to dot her lower lip with smaller kisses.  And soon, Helena's hands make their way to Myka's hips, where the elastic band of her underwear, the only other thing she wears, meet skin, and the delicate touch almost breaks Myka’s resolve.  
  
But she senses Helena’s hesitancy, can feel her tense beneath the kisses, and notes the timid way in which Helena’s hands fall at her hips, touching and not quite holding on.    
  
Myka wonders where that woman has gone, the woman who could barely keep her hands to herself nine months ago.  That woman who would smile devilishly at the sight of Myka now, half-naked, wearing only underwear and one of Helena's blouses, the woman who kissed her so passionately and confidently, so sure of what she had wanted.  Who made love to her flawlessly and whose body trembled, just as flawlessly, under the return of Myka's touch.    
  
Myka wonders if nine months can really change a person that much.  If nine months could really change _Helena_ that much.  And then she thinks about all the time that has passed that Helena has not been present in her life, time where Myka has not been present in Helena’s life.     
  
Their time apart has far surpassed the amount of time they have spent together.  It always has.  
  
And maybe, Myka also thinks, she doesn't really know Helena like she wants to know Helena.  Maybe Helena has grown and moved past the whirlwind romancing of a warehouse agent, the only woman she _used_ to know like her.  Maybe Helena has found something more gratifying in her new life.  Someone more compatible.  Someone more available.  
  
More _lovable_.  
  
After nine months, Myka can imagine she has met so many new people, seen so many new things, and without the constant going and never stopping of the warehouse to keep her bound, Myka is certain there was room for Helena to have found someone new.  Because when had Helena ever had any trouble finding anyone at all?  
  
Myka is suddenly struck by the knowledge that any relationship Helena might have found outside of the warehouse would have no doubt flourished.  Because any relationship that takes place outside of the warehouse is not governed by the needs of the warehouse, or its agents' time, or the constant neutralizing of dangerous artifacts.  Any relationship outside of the warehouse would have the luxury of time.  
  
And Myka can only imagine having any kind of time.  
  
  
Helena's hands don't leave her waist but when Myka reaches to unbutton her blouse, it seems to spark some urgency in Helena.  The older woman immediately reaches up to Myka's hands, grasps them gently and pulls her fingers away from buttons and back into her chest, where she doesn't let go.    
  
“Please.”  Helena says softly.  
  
Myka doesn't say anything to this but watches as Helena lowers her head just before looking away, across the bedroom, and back to Myka with a small smile.  
  
"I am trying so very hard not to apologize to you because I know how much you hate it."  Helena laughs softly.  
  
Myka smiles now, too.  "It's not the apology that I hate.  It's the _leaving_ that always comes after."  
  
"Right.  And after tonight,"  Helena pauses again and she squeezes Myka's hands in hers and presses her lips to fingertips, kissing softly.  "After tonight, I don't know when I will get to see you again."  
  
"It's kind of our thing, Helena."  Myka's laugh is small and her tears still falling.  Helena lifts a hand to wipe the moisture from Myka's cheeks and tugs gently on a stray curl that falls over her forehead.    
  
"I just needed to see you again before I left."  
  
“Would you do something for me?"  Myka asks reaching for Helena's hand, still hovering by her face, and turning to place a kiss against her palm. Helena nods and Myka lowers their hands again.  "Stay for a little while?  Until I fall asleep again.  And maybe, by morning, I can convince myself that this was all just a dream."  
  
Helena smiles and Myka sees that too rare flush of skin when Helena turns her head away for a second and then back to Myka, nodding.  
  
"Okay."    
  
Myka moves her hands to Helena's shoulders and guides her back to the bed.  
  
"Sit."  
  
Helena obeys and Myka kneels and then sits before her, pulling one of Helena's legs into her lap and unlatching every buckle of her boot.  When the foot is free, she sets the boot aside and moves to Helena's other boot.  This time, her eyes meet Helena's and they do not look away.  
  
"Be gentle with those."  Helena smirks and then teases softly,  "They're my favorite."  
  
Myka tosses the freed boot aside haphazardly and moves closer to Helena, standing on her knees in front of the older woman and whispers, "I thought _I_ was your favorite?"  
  
Helena's eyes widen and her smirk twists to hide a smile.

"That you are."  
  
Myka reaches up to her blouse and frees the top three buttons, barely revealing the beginning of cleavage and the absence of a bra.  
  
"I thought your intention was to sleep."  Helena finally manages.    
  
"My intention, Helena," Myka says, slowly standing to her feet, her hands against Helena's knees as leverage, "was for you to help me fall asleep."    
  
She holds out her hands now and Helena doesn't hesitate to take them.  
  
"Historically, such successes have been preceded by the removal of several items of clothing."  
  
Myka pulls Helena's hands into her, against the blouse she almost isn't wearing, over buttons that are suddenly too imposing.    
  
"I don't suppose you've forgotten how to undress me."  Myka uses one hand to pull the length of her curls over one shoulder as she tilts her head to look at Helena.    
  
Helena whose teeth are biting down hard against her lower lip, whose hands hover motionless against Myka's abdomen, and whose fingers still at the next delicate button of a blouse that Myka is growing _very_ tired of wearing.    
  
Helena's eyes travel from Myka's down to her fingers then back to Myka again, and as if suddenly propelled forward by new want, her fingers begin moving to undo buttons.    
  
One gone.  Then the second.  And a third.  
  
When the fourth button is free, Myka's blouse parts open, revealing skin from the elastic waist of silk panties to the coy smile she's now giving Helena Wells, who sits still below her.  
  
"Better?"  Helena asks.  
  
"Much."  Myka's smile grows.    
  
And then Helena's hands are on her waist, delicate still but finally holding on.  The touch weakens Myka's knees and they bend into the other woman, whose grasp around her waist seems almost prepared for the sudden give.  Helena steadies her, smiles.  
  
"I've got you."    
  
Myka's heart leaps in her chest as her hands find Helena's shoulders.  
  
"Myka..."  Helena abandons the eye contact, and she abandons the words, to pull Myka closer to her.  Hands snake slowly around Myka's waist and soft lips find their place against Myka's navel.  
  
Myka's move further around Helena's shoulders to regain the balance she loses when the intimate touch of parted lips moves gingerly across skin too-long neglected.

Then Helena is resting her forehead against Myka's belly and sighs, inhales, kisses, exhales, inhales, kisses, exhales again, slowly, then she stills.  For a long moment Helena doesn't move.  She breathes and her hands continue holding, but her lips are still against Myka's flesh.  
  
"Hey."    
  
A finger beneath Helena's chin brings her eyes back to Myka's.  She bends into a kiss. And when their lips part, Myka lowers herself into Helena's lap, legs folded in against the bed, and she wraps an arm over Helena's shoulder.  
  
"It's okay."  Myka whispers.  
  
Helena pulls Myka in close with hands at the small of her back.  
  
"Iwant to,"  Helena breathes, "but I can't do this.  Not to you.  Not now, when I'm about to leave."  
  
"Then don't leave me."  Myka breathes, setting her forehead against Helena's.  
  
"I wish it could be that..."  Helena doesn't finish but drags her fingertips up Myka's bare sides beneath the blouse she still wears.  Myka shivers under the touch and the heat of their proximity warms Myka to her core.  And for the longest time, they just sit there, watching each other, trying to breathe, and taking everything in.    
  
Myka finally breaks the silence.    
  
"Okay, if not _that_ ," she smirks, "then I have questions."  
  
"I wondered."  Helena puffs out a small laugh.  
  
Myka moves her free hand between them and gently places a finger to tap gently against Helena's lips.    
  
"Where,"  And Myka thinks for the first time ever that maybe she doesn't want to know but she asks anyway, "where have you been?"  
  
Helena's smirk disappears and she brings her hand up to Myka's still against her lips, and grasps tightly.  She presses her lips to now-curling fingers and to the back of Myka's hand, then pulls it in close to her chest, over a rapidly beating heart.  
  
"Featherhead."  She finally says.    
  
Myka does not realize she’s holding her breath until she finally exhales and the burn of tears hits her again.    
  
"Featherhead?"  She questions.  Helena nods.  "All this time and you were so close.   Why..."  She stops herself from asking and closes her eyes.  "I don't know if I want to know."  
  
"At first I didn't have the option."  Helena continues, knowing what Myka's next question would be.  "I wasn't allowed to contact any of you and the Regents were very aware of your movements, I'm sure.  They were confident we would never run into each other.”  
  
“But then you _did_ have the option.”  Myka states, matter of factually.  
  
“Yes.”  Helena blinks slowly.  “And I made the choice to stay away.”  Myka sighs and moves away from Helena, back onto the bed, pulling her hand from Helena’s grasp. She runs both hands through her hair and closes her eyes. “Please don’t be upset with me.”  
  
Myka laughs, eyes open and falling on the face of the woman who now sits beside her.  “You know the most ridiculous part of all of this, Helena, is that no matter how hard I try,” Myka shakes her head, “I just cannot bring myself to be mad at you.  Disappointed, maybe.  Even a little hurt at times.”  Myka leans back into Helena’s space and kisses her.  “But not mad.  Especially not now that you’re in front of me.”  
  
This time, Helena moves in to kiss Myka, hesitating only momentarily before their lips touch. As the kiss deepens, Myka moves Helena’s hand around her waist and wraps her arm over Helena's shoulder once again.  Myka maneuvers her way to the center of the bed and pulls Helena with her, lips still pressed firmly together.  And when they do finally part, Myka is biting her lip as Helena settles next to her.  
  
"It has never before taken this long to get you into my bed."  Myka whispers, laying back on the bed and directing Helena to lay beside her.  
  
Helena's cheeks redden as Myka curls into her side.  
  
“Why did you come back?”  
  
Helena closes her eyes tight.  
  
“I cannot tell you.”  She whispers.  
  
“Fair enough.”  Myka bites her lip.  “Where are you going?”  
  
“Even if I knew, I don’t think I could tell you that either.”  
  
“So, this life you have built for yourself is quite elusive.  Secretive.”    
  
Helena laughs.  “Maybe.  Although, you should know that my reason for coming back here and my reason for leaving are not at all related to my life, or what I want."  
  
“Are you actually happy?”  
  
“I am content.  Satisfied.”  Helena responds too quickly.  “For once, I don’t regret making the choices that I have made.”  She moves the back of her fingers across Myka’s abdomen, from just below her breasts and down to her navel, then turns her hand to press her palm firmly against Myka’s stomach.  
  
Myka’s breath hitches and she moves in closer to Helena, her forehead against the other woman’s and lips brushing lightly against hers.    
  
“Does that mean you regret the last time you shared my bed with me?”  
  
Myka can see the evidence of Helena being caught off guard in the way her breathing changes and how her eyes widen just before she shuts them too tight.  Then she’s shaking her head and moving her lips to the tip of Myka’s nose and kissing there gently.  
  
“Rest assured, I would never regret a single moment spent with you in your bed, Darling.”  Helena smiles.  “Or anywhere for that matter.”  Myka closes her eyes and feels Helena’s lips press gently against each lid.  
  
Helena taps Myka’s nose before dragging the solitary finger down, across Myka’s lips, her chin, the column of her neck.  Myka opens her eyes to find Helena watching her, the finger still trailing its way over Myka’s chest, between her breasts, and down to her navel.  This time, Helena doesn’t stop there and Myka’s body trembles when the touch of one finger becomes two and trail further down to the elastic of her underwear.  
  
Helena pulls at the elastic only slightly with a single finger and smirks when it snaps back against Myka’s skin.  
  
“Helena.”  Myka scolds and Helena kisses her once more.  “Do not start something that you cannot finish.”  
  
"Oh Myka."  She breathes.  "Perhaps not tonight but one day, I do intend to finish what I have started."  
  
//  
  
Myka lulls from her dreams into consciousness with the smell of freshly baked apple pie invading her nostrils.  She inhales deeply and smiles just seconds before her hand falls to the cold of empty bed sheets by her side.  
  
She sits up suddenly, fresh tears already welling in her eyes, and it aches her, the too-familiar emptiness of her bedroom.  
  
“Helena.”  She breathes before pulling her knees into her chest and lowering her head into a sob.  Not even the knowledge of her going could soften the blow of her being gone.  
  
She’s not entirely recovered from crying when there’s a hard knock at her door, followed by Pete calling her name.  
  
“Not now, Pete.”  Myka sniffles, wiping her face free of tears and instinctively pulling the sheet over her exposed breasts.  
  
“Mykes!”  In true Pete fashion, he opens the door anyway.  "There is a distinct smell of apple pie emanating from your bedroom.  Permission to enter and-“ and then he’s through the door and his eyes land on the nightstand just beside Myka, “ooooh!”  His voice is high pitched, his fingers already grabbing at the air as he begins to propel himself forward and into the bedroom.  
  
“Pete!”  Myka plucks up a pillow from beside her and to cover her chest as he moves further into her bedroom.  
  
“What?  Oh, I’m not looking at you, Mykes.”  He covers his eyes with one hand and holds out the other as if feeling the air to find his way.  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.”  
  
“Get out, get out, get out!”  Myka yells throwing an extra pillow at him.  
  
“Okay, okay!  Fine, I’m going.”  Pete turns and heads for the door, and once he is almost through, he turns back to Myka with an accusing finger and says, “You don’t know how to lock your door _or_ share.”  
  
With Pete gone, Myka’s eyes finally find the source of the delicious smell sitting on her nightstand.  A plate occupied by two empanadas, dusted with cinnamon, and a mug of what Myka can now clearly distinguish as hot apple cider.  
  
And beside these a note that Myka reads:  
  
 _Somehow, my dear friend, the sweet smell of apples always reminds me of you._  
  
 _Helena_  
  
Myka nods, wipes away tears, and smiles.  “Right.”  She says.  “ _Now_ you’re Helena.  Now that you’re gone again.”  She shakes her head and sets the note back onto the nightstand.  
  
Myka pulls herself out of bed to throw on a shirt and some pants, then grabs the plate and the mug of cider, and heads for her bedroom door.  When she opens it, Pete loses his balance and falls onto her bedroom floor.  
  
“Oh uh, hey Myka, how… how is that apple pie?”  Pete grimaces from below her on the floor.  
  
“I have two.  You can have one.”  Myka says, rolling her eyes as Pete immediately pulls himself to standing and is already reaching for one of the pastries on her plate.  “And they’re empanadas.”  
  
“Oh, even better.”    
  
Myka moves back to her bed, takes a sip of the cider in her mug before setting it back onto the nightstand and sits back on her bed with her legs folded in front of her.  Pete does much the same, only when he tries to reach across Myka for her mug of cider, she slaps his hand away.  
  
“That’s mine.”  He pouts.  “You only get a pastry.”  
  
He doesn’t hesitate to grab one, Myka grabs the other and sets the plate back on the stand.  
  
Pete is already halfway done with his by the time she turns back around.  
  
“Dude.”   She’s shaking her head.  
  
“What?”  He holds out his hands with a mouth full of baked apple and cinnamon filled pastry.  “Do you know how long I had to endure this _smell_ before I finally knocked your door down?”  
  
Myka is still shaking her head.  
  
“Are you going to actually eat that?  Because I know you have a thing with sugar and…”  He’s already reaching for her empanada.  She swats his hand away and he yawns through a laugh.  
  
“Stay back.  Helena made this for me.  I’m eating it.”  And she finally takes a bite for herself.  “Holy hell, that’s delicious."  
  
“Wait, HG made these?”  Pete asks, lifting two brows.  “HG as in, haven’t heard from the woman in almost a year HG?  HG who once tried to cook a microwave meal without taking it out of the box first?”  
  
“Pete.”  
  
“She _was_ here afterall?”  
  
“She _was_.”  
  
“And you guys…”  
  
Myka stares at him. 

“I’m not talking to you about this.”  Myka takes another small bite of her pastry.  He shrugs and yawns again.  She yawns, too.  “And will you stop, you’re making me yawn, too."  
  
“So, where is she now?  Drawing your bath?  Planning a dinner date for the both of you at Univille’s finest five star restaurant?  I kinda of miss that little sh…"  
  
“She’s gone.”  
  
Pete falls quiet and nods.  "Okay."  
  
“Again.”  

"If you want to talk about it..."

"I don't."  
  
Myka takes another bite.  Chews.  Swallows.  Then yawns.  
  
Pete yawns, too.  
  
“It was you that time.”  Pete accuses.  Myka yawns again, takes another bite.  
  
“I think I underestimated how exhausted I am after yesterday’s ping.”  Myka finishes her empanada.  
  
“Sure it was the ping and not the thing that happened in your bedroom _after_ the ping?”  Pete yawns again and falls back on Myka’s bed with his hands under his head.  
  
“Not on that pillow.”  Myka swipes the pillow Helena had been sleeping on from beneath Pete’s head.  “Use this one.”  She throws her pillow over his face and he pushes it to the side to arch a brow at Myka.  
  
“Wait, did you guys really _do it_ because if you did, I can’t lay on these sheets.”  Myka picks up the previously thrown pillow and throws it back over Pete’s face.  
  
“Shut up.”  She yawns again.  “What is _wrong_ with me?”  
  
“It’s cool, Mykes, we don’t have anywhere to be.”  Pete says reaching a hand up toward Myka’s face.  “Shhh, close your eyes.”  He palms her face and she groans and pushes his hand away.

"Your hand smells."  
  
Myka reaches for her cider, now considerably cooler, and sips it down as the sound of Pete’s snoring fills her bedroom.    
  
“Oh no, of course, Pete.”  She rolls her eyes.  “Make yourself at home in my bed.  Oh, what’s that?  You’re tired?  Well, go right ahead and take a nap…” the rest of her words are a mockery of mumbles before she finishes the cider and sets the mug back on the night stand.  
  
She yawns, stretches, lays back down into her Helena-scented pillow, buries her face into the aroma, and sighs.  
  
“You stupid _stupid_ beautiful woman.”  She whispers before closing her eyes.    
  
//  
  
The next time Myka wakes up, she sheds no tears.  She doesn’t feel the tight clutch of Helena’s grasp on her heart.  She doesn’t carry the enormous weight of Helena’s absence in her mind.  And when her eyes meet the eyes of her best friend, laying across from her in her bed, they’re quiet, contemplative, serene, and gazing, until finally Pete says, “At least we’re both wearing clothes this time.”  
  
And then Myka is laughing. 

Myka is laughing like she hasn’t laughed in a _very_ long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is written, just needs to be edited. Chapter ten is not far behind.


	9. Helena: Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place immediately before/after the previous chapter and begins immediately after Helena's previous chapter.

Helena made a massive detour on her way out of the warehouse.  She hadn’t stopped to think about what she was actually doing, only conjured up the idea in the span of time it took for her to leave Mrs. Frederic’s side in the dark vault and appear at the doors of the warehouse’s resident greenhouse with tools in hand.  
  
Somehow, the greenhouse had its own self-illimunating sunshine, a brightness that was barely noticeable until one stepped through the threshold into blinding white light and a massive garden that seemed to be as vast as any forest that existed outside of the warehouse.  And much like the warehouse, most of the flora and some stray non-artifacty fauna that existed here, were organized into aisles and rows, akin to an orchard, and categorized by the the severity of their origins and also their various causes and effects.    
  
The most deadly of these plants were growing conveniently at the center of a maze of hedges in some corner of the greenhouse where light barely cascaded through an army of willow trees.  
  
Helena was thankful that the greenhouse had not changed much since Warehouse 12.  It looks slightly more neglected and, only as she finds herself walking the familiar path of the maze, around corners and past false gaps in walls of shrubbery, does she remember once questioning the extent of Artie’s upkeep in this particular area of the warehouse.  Followed by the flippant wave of his hand that she received in response, accompanied with an aggravated, “Don’t _you_ worry about that."  
  
Then she recalls a conversation with Claudia, wherein the young woman had gone on about wanting to visit a garden in England, around Alnwick Castle in Northumberland, that was home to some of the deadliest plants in the world.  And how Myka, who had been sitting nearby reading a book and doing that odd thing she does where she can split her attention perfectly between multiple tasks and conversations, had casually mentioned the warehouse garden putting the garden of Alnwick Castle to a deadly shame.    
  
Helena recalls the look she had then exchanged with Myka, when Myka finally realized who she had been speaking in the presence of, and the metaphorical door that she had just opened.  It was almost as wide as Claudia’s eyes and mouth had fallen at learning of the deadly warehouse garden.  
  
They had then spent the next three hours trying to convince Claudia:  
  
 _Forget what Myka had said.  Do_ not _leave this bed and breakfast.  Do_ not _go to the warehouse.  Don't you_ dare _go into the greenhouse or so help us._ And finally, _to at the very least not go by yourself._  
  
That’s when Myka and Helena had decided to relent and just escort the young girl to the garden themselves.  They knew Claudia, and they knew Claudia would find her way there, one way or another, and they very much preferred to guide her to the garden themselves rather than have her wandering off on her own, touching all of the wrong things.  
  
Now, Helena finds herself smiling as she pushes back overgrown branches at the entrance to the center of the garden and is reminded of the image of Claudia’s face as she had stepped into the light-dappled clearing that very much resembled a field of grapevines.  Only these plants, Helena thinks to herself, could not only kill you, but would reach their toxin-laced branches and vines out to any unsuspecting fool who wandered past them, to do so.  
  
It acted as a security measure and, as Claudia’s bright mind had done then, one could only question what sort of plant was of such great importance, or threat as the situation may be, that even the plants that were deadly to the touch had been planted entirely around it.  
  
Myka and Helena would not take Claudia any further into the garden than that, but Myka did point out the enormous tree at the center, and Claudia did immediately ask what it was.  
  
  
 _“The Tree of Knowledge.”  Myka smiled.  “Well, not the actual Biblical Tree of Knowledge.”_  
  
 _Helena had supplied, “It’s mostly just a pseudonym for what the tree really is.  A joke, really.”_  
  
 _“And what is it really?”  Claudia had asked._  
  
 _“Dangerous.”   Myka and Helena had both responded at once, then looked to one another and smiled._  
  
 _Claudia had said, “Well, let’s go see how dangerous this sucker is!”  Because in true Claudia fashion, she was not the least bit thwarted by the words “deadly” and “dangerous” and “absolutely not”.  But Myka and Helena would not cave on this final matter.  They both reached for her just as she stepped into an aisle, and they yanked her body fully back into them as an errant branch from a plant that neither Myka nor Helena could name, had attempted to reach out to her._  
  
 _When all three of them tumbled backward and to the ground, Claudia caught sight of the retreating branch and Helena could hear the gulp that she swallowed before quietly shaking her head and exhaling a whisper of the words, “Endless fucking wonder."_  
  
  
There were only two ways a person could get through the plants without them launching an assault with their various branches, vines, barbs, petals, and pollens.  The first was by singing to them.  No specific song, but whatever the song was, one would be wise to make sure it was a good one, preferably plant friendly, and that it was being sung moderately on-key.   The second, the option that Helena had trusted a lot more than she trusted her own singing ability (and especially at this late hour, would be her excuse today) was by carrying fire.  
  
Plants do not just hate fire, they fear fire.  At least these plants did.  These plants that actually had the ability  _to_ fear.  
  
Helena is almost surprised to see the lantern she holds in her hand, because she had been so lost in her thoughts while journeying to the greenhouse, that she doesn't remember stopping for it, nor does she remember putting on the purple gloves that she now wears.  Or maybe she had just never taken them off to begin with.

Helena's mind begins to cloud.  She sneezes.

 _Pollen._  
  
She adjusts the bag which carries the astrolabe and is draped over her shoulder, so that it is as much behind her as it can be and not close enough to the plants to be entangled in their snare should one of them get a wild hair up their roots.  The lantern, which had been a poor excuse for an artifact to begin with, (apparently there were a dozen or more like it that had lined the streets of Paul Revere’s ride to Lexington and none of them did anything more than shine exponentially brighter than most), lights itself the second she taps it.

The fog in her mind clears almost instantly, and she takes a moment to laugh at the irony of the lantern being in her possession.  
  
The plants in front of her immediately recoil at the brightness and Helena steps forward, cautiously at first, and then with more purpose as more plants seem to bend on invisible winds, away from her presence.  
  
“Many apologies, darlings.”  She says to them, knowing the sweet talk will probably ease the not so rhetorical burn.    
  
The plants, every last one of them, are gorgeous.  Helena knows that their beauty and charm, like most things in the animal kingdom, is the beginning of the end for any person who dares to approach them.  But she has often wondered what it is about the plants in the warehouse that gave them that extra measure of defense by bringing them fully to life and giving them control of their own branches.  
  
It's mostly assumed that the actual artifact is the soil from which they have grown and not the actual plants themselves.  
  
By the time she comes to the conclusion that it is just another _thing_ that the warehouse does because it is the warehouse, she has surpassed the vines and finds herself standing beneath the behemoth of a tree that is at the garden's center. With it’s too-wide trunk, soaring limbs, low-hanging branches and it’s choice fruit of propagation:  
  
Apples.  
  
The tree resembles a giant willow in the way that its branches are so high and fall so close to the ground, and every apple on the tree is red and ripe, hanging low enough to the ground to be just within or just outside of Helena’s reach.  
  
Helena sets the lantern down and moves through the limbs of the tree to examine the array of apples that she’s sure she can actually reach without stretching too far.  And while they are all imbued with the same properties, she cannot help herself in her search for the perfect one.  It takes her less than a few minutes to find it, darker than the others, yet brighter, as if illuminating itself even in the shade of the tree from which it was born.  
  
Helena reaches up to the apple but retracts her hand when she hears a slight humming from behind her.  She turns to look over her shoulder but sees nothing and the humming seems to stop.  She squints her eyes into the rows of overgrown vines just before returning her reach to the apple.  It’s almost too high for her, but she stands on the tips of her toes and just manages to get a grip on it and tugs gently.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Helena startles, jumping and turning all at once at the sound of another woman's voice suddenly from behind her.  
  
"Leena!"  She exhales with some relief.  The young woman has her arms crossed and glares at Helena.  "Taking after your several greats grandmother, I see."  Helena smirks and glances back up at the apple, swaying above her head.  
  
"Speaking of which, _you_ are supposed to be gone."  Helena looks back to Leena who now focuses her eyes on Helena's bag at her side.  "With the astrolabe."  
  
"And stay gone."  Helena says throwing her hands out.  "Indefinitely."  Helena sighs and shrugs, shifts her weight from one foot to another while shaking her head, which she lowers to stare at the ground.   Helena's voice weakens, "Leena, I don't know when I'll see her again.   _If_ I will see her again."  
  
Leena's face seems to soften at this cryptic admission.  "What does that have to do with you taking an apple from the Garden?"  
  
"I can't leave her like this, Leena."  Helena looks back up at Leena now, allowing a small, pained smile to tug at the corner of her lips.  "I can't just walk away, again, and give her nothing.  And I can't stay."  
  
"Nor can you just slice up an apple and expect it to fix all of your problems."    
  
"It's not my problems that I'm worried about, Leena."  Helena steps closer to the young inn keeper until they are only feet apart.  "Surely, you know about my lost time."  
  
"I do."  Leena nods with a tilt of her head.  
  
Helena shakes her own head while trying to find the words to convey the thoughts that she still hasn't quite figured out.    
  
"Whatever happened between Myka and I, or _whoever_ , that night," Helena begins, "I can't live up to it.  I don't feel like I just woke up from that experience after being asleep for twenty-two hours.  I feel as though I have been dropped into an entirely new timeline altogether."  Helena sighs.  "And I know I haven't been, but to wake up in a world where Myka Bering is actually in love with me and having absolutely no recollection of how that happened..."  
  
Those are all of the words Helena can manage before her face is entirely wet with tears.  
  
"You don't really believe that happened in only one night?"  
  
"It was defined in one night."  Helena says.  "A night during which I wasn't present.  
  
The look that she hazards toward Leena is met with one of sorrow and perhaps a hint of understanding.    
  
"Well," Leena arches a brow, "you could have at least asked for my assistance."  She scolds.  "You can't just come into a deadly garden and start yanking apples off of trees. There are consequences for that sort of thing."  
  
Helena sighs, relieved, at Leena's lecture, which she concludes with a small smile.    
  
"Also, I need you to tell me exactly what you expect to happen by using the apple."  Leena walks past Helena to the apple she was previously tugging on, still swaying on it's branch, and lifts her hand up with an open palm.  But then she suddenly retracts it.  "This isn't Yellowstone all over again, is it?"  
  
"No!  No, no."  Helena walks closer to Leena.  "I wouldn't... I mean, I could never hurt Myka.  I... I love her.  I just... I want her to be happy, without me and I can be happier knowing she's not really thinking about me."  
  
Leena bites her bottom lip, watching Helena for a long while before finally nodding her approval.  
  
"Okay."  She says softly.  "But I prepare everything.  You watch.  Okay?"  
  
Helena smiles.  "I would actually prefer it that way.  I trust you, one hundred percent."  
  
"Great."  Leena says.  "Now help me reach this apple."

 

  
It's just after midnight at the B&B and Helena is standing in the hallway outside of Myka's bedroom door, staring at the soft light that stretches across the floor from under it.  She has reached out for the door knob no less than twenty times before eventually retracting her hand, closing her eyes, steadying her breath.    
  
On reach number twenty-one, her hand finally makes contact, pauses momentarily before she will herself to make this happen, and turns the thing to quietly pop the door open.    
  
She takes in another deep breath in her surprise and relief that the door is unlocked, and suspects Myka might have left it that way on purpose, knowing Helena had been nearby.  Hoping Helena had planned to return.    
  
And she has.  Helena thinks Myka knows her too well.  Always has.  
  
Helena pushes the door open slowly until she can see inside without being entirely seen, and smiles at the sight of Myka fast asleep on her bed with the journal by her side and a pen still in her grasp.   Finally, Helena steps into the room and she closes the door softly behind her.    
  
The vision on the bed is all freshly damp curls over silk pillows, one beneath Myka's head, the other clutched firmly in her left arm.  Helena smiles because she had been in that very same position on Myka's bed several hours before.    
  
Myka, Helena notes, is not in her typical sleep wear.  She has on a blouse, and Helena is certain it is her own, that barely covers panties and leaves little to the imagination before the stretch of long, exposed legs.    
  
That familiar flutter fills Helena's abdomen and only becomes more intense the closer she steps toward Myka's bed.  And when she's finally above her, she sits slowly beside her sleeping form, and smiles, content to watch over her.  
  
Helena slowly removes the pen from Myka's grasp and realizes how much she has severely underestimated the effect of her time away from Myka.  The slight brush against the other woman's skin sends Helena into a dizzy spell, and she thanks whoever she need thank for having thought to sit down before touching the other woman.    
  
She takes in a deep breath before lifting Myka's hand away from her journal and pulling the book into her lap.  And she sets Myka's hand gently back against the bed, but she doesn't let go.   Instead, she sets her hand over the back of Myka's and laces her fingers through those of the sleeping woman.  
  
Myka's hand instantly tightens over Helena's fingers, and Helena feels the wet warmth against her cheeks, as tears she promised herself she'd stop crying, begin to fall.  Helena can barely catch her breath at the feel of Myka's hand in hers, she runs her thumb against soft skin and it causes the sleeping woman beside her to stir only slightly.  
  
"Shhh."  Helena calms her softly, still caressing the skin.  
  
Now Helena turns her attention to the journal in her lap, already opened to the last page of words where Helena had left her almost too harsh message earlier that day.   It's followed by another, longer entry in Myka's handwriting.  Helena closes her eyes and wipes away tears, then focuses on the words before her.  
  
  
  
  
 _Helena.  HG.  Whoever._  
  
 _You have been gone too long if you think your self righteous ultimatums and insistence that you have moved on are really going to work on me.  And it is very typical /you that you'll even try to push me away, to claim to be over it, while stealing away into my bedroom when I'm not here, laying in my bed, leaving traces of you everywhere, writing notes in this journal.  Solving puzzles without me._  
  
 _If you are happy then sure, I'll take your false bravado and your sad attempts to push me away because that’s what /you apparently want and that’s okay.  But if you are just being typical Helena, you need to stop and you need to step away from whatever cliff you've decided to teeter on the edge of /this time and /talk to me about it._  
  
 _I don't care what you think you've done to me, I don't care what you think you're doing to me, and I don't care what you think you're going to do to me one day.  I only care about you and having you and holding you and being with you and loving you._  
  
 _The rest, we can figure out together, Helena. Like adults tend to do.  Instead of you thinking you know what's best for me while simultaneously keeping the best thing /for me just slightly out of my reach._  
  
 _I don't know why you suddenly came back, Helena, appearing to me only as an apparition, a scent on my pillows and some hastily scribbled words that you and I both know don't mean very much at all, but you should know by now that all I want is for you to stay._  
  
 _It's the only thing I want.  Above all else.  I just want you to stay._  
  
 _I love you._  
  
 _MYKA_  
  
  
  
  
Helena barely registers when the other woman turns her hand over, palm up, and reaches to tighten the hold she has on Helena's hand. She barely hears the whisper that is her name from soft lips, on the voice of a woman she hasn't heard speak for almost a year.  That she has not laid eyes on in almost a year.  
  
But Helena notices when Myka sits up suddenly beside her.  She notices when the other woman fully registers her presence.  She hears in the next time she says her name, that it almost doesn't escape those lips for all the tears that she knows are beginning to fall from her eyes.  And when Helena finally turns to her, finally manages to look at the face that has been slowly fading from her memory, that she has desperately been trying to hold onto, and when she finally sees her, wet cheeks, flushed red, green eyes drowning in tears, Helena stills entirely.    
  
"Helena?"  
  
That voice calls her again through impossibly beautiful lips and either of the two, that voice or those lips, or both could kill her in this moment, they are so painfully gorgeous.  And Helena somehow moves past her inability to breathe, somehow catches her breath, somehow feels her heart still beating in her chest, and somehow manages to smile without that killing her, too.  
  
"Hello again, Darling."


	10. Leena: Auras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, because Leena's a sweetheart even when she's trying not to be.

"So the Garden is a bit overgrown."  
  
Leena doesn't bother turning away from her preparations to greet Helena as she enters the dimly-lit kitchen, illuminated only by a soft light above the stove in this early morning hour.  Helena moves past her quietly and leans against the counter just far enough from Leena to not be in the way.    
  
"Good morning to you as well."  
  
Helena smiles.   
  
"Morning Leena."  Helena looks over the array of cooking utensils and dishes that cover the counter and stove top as Leena steadily kneads at freshly made dough.  She looks overwhelmed when Leena catches her watching in the corner of her eye.  "You are an angel, Leena.  I really do miss your talents in the kitchen."  
  
"Don't try to sweet talk me, I'm still mad about this."  
  
Helena smiles.  "How is Claudia?"  
  
Leena closes her eyes for a second and turns completely away from Helena.  "Good.  She misses you."  
  
"I miss _her_."  Helena nods.  "My relentless little shadow."  
  
Now Leena smiles genuinely and turns back to the stove.  "Look in the fridge, top shelf."  
  
Helena obeys and when she opens the refrigerator and eventually finds the Tupperware container with all three of her initials on it, Leena thinks she can _almost_ hear the woman squeal.  But the sound is quickly masked behind the clearing of her throat.   
  
"For the road."  Leena says over her shoulder.    
  
"Oh darling, you are the sweetest thing to ever grace this marvelously doomed planet."  Helena returns to her previous spot alongside Leena with the container in hand.   
  
"You mean aside from Myka."  
  
"I love Myka, but she's about as skilled a cook as I am."  Helena shrugs.  "And we all know that isn't saying very much.  Not when it comes to modern recipes anyway."  
  
Leena laughs softly.    
  
"Just make sure that when you _do_ eventually return to civilization, you bring me back my Tupperware."  Leena scolds.   "That stuff is not cheap."  
  
"Tupperware?"  Helena questions eyeing the bowl.   
  
"That's the brand name of the container."  Leena nods.  "Also known as Inn Keeper's Gold.  You lose it, you _die_."  
  
"Righty-ho."  Helena says a bit hesitantly.   
  
There's a long period of silence after Leena asks Helena to retrieve another fork for her.  Leena takes a rolling pin to flatten the dough out and cuts two perfect circles into it, then sets the remaining dough aside.  She places the two circles atop a baking sheet and from a bowl beside her, carefully spoons cooked and chilled apple slices over the dough.   
  
"The garden is overgrown for a reason."  Leena finally says, and only now does she finally look at Helena.  Helena whose hair is disheveled but still sustaining the impossibility of perfection.  Leena rolls her eyes at that.  "It's meant to be a deterrent from the prying eyes of too-nosy warehouse agents and agents-in-training."  
  
"Ah, but I'm no longer a warehouse agent."  
  
"And former warehouse agents."  Leena corrects.  "All the more reason for you to not wander aimlessly throughout the warehouse.  Especially when you're supposed to be _gone_."  
  
"Leena."  
  
"Ignore me.  I have had very little sleep."  
  
"No, I'm sorry I put this on you."

Leena shakes her head to dismiss the apology.  
  
"Is Myka okay?"  
  
"She is right now.  Sleeping quite soundly."  A smile graces Helena's lips as she seems to lend her thoughts to very recent memories.  Then her smile is gone and she lowers her head to stare at the ground. "I'm not so sure how she will be in the morning.  Also, I had forgotten just how soundly she sleeps."  
  
Leena nods, folding dough over apples to create a half-moon shape and pressing the uncooked pastry closed around the edges with the fork Helena had retrieved for her.   
  
"What do you call those?"  
  
"Empanadas."  Leena says softly, moving to the next one and glancing back at Helena.  "What time is it?"  
  
"Almost six."  
  
Leena stops what she's doing and turns to Helena with a concentrated look, then says sternly, "You need to go."  
  
Helena sighs.  "I know.  I'm just making sure..."  
  
"I will take Myka the empanadas when they're done."  Leena wipes dampness from her face and forehead with the back of her hand, as heat from the oven warms the kitchen.   
  
"And the cider?"  Helena questions.   
  
"That, too."  
  
"Leena, this is very important to me."  
  
"Yes, it is.  Important to _you_.  As I'm sure Myka's emotions are quite important to _her_."  
  
"I can't leave her like this.  She deserves to be happy."  
  
"She deserves to make those decisions on her own free will."  Leena shakes her head and turns back to the work in front of her.  "If she wants to be miserable thinking about you, then it's her right to be miserable."  
  
Helena smiles.  "Why are you helping me?"  
  
Leena hopes the look she now gives Helena is speaking the too-many volumes that her voice, this early in the morning, is unable to speak.    
  
"I'm helping you because I know what I'm doing."  Leena sighs and glares at the swirl of colors that floats around Helena, all pain and passion and love and desperation wrapped into one magnificent display.  If not for those colors, and if not for the steadily darkening aura that had been swarming around Myka for the past several months, Leena would have never agreed to this.  She would have gone out of her way to stop this, in fact.   
  
But Leena had witnessed the beautifully complex shared aura that so often swarmed around Helena and Myka while in the presence of one another.  Love always created the brightest and most spectacular colors, but the display of lights that so often danced around those two, even in all of their resistance to each other, was unlike anything Leena had ever seen.    
  
And color her a liar if she ever said she didn't miss that.   
  
"Your aura is really annoying me right now."  
  
Because it is so much brighter than Myka's has been, is the part that she doesn't say.  Helena is surprisingly holding onto the hope that Myka seems to be losing her grasp on with every new day.   
  
"Leena."  Helena speaks softly.  "You are an angel and I owe you so much for this."  
  
"No."  Leena smiles, shaking her head.  "You owe Myka for this.  You owe her big.  Because she's going to be so mad when she finds out."  
  
"She may never find out."

Leena laughs softly now.  "If you last one year without kissing her, I will cook you dinner for a month.  Do you even hear yourself?"

"I know what's at stake."  Helena lowers her head to stare at her motionless hands momentarily, then looks back up to Leena.  
  
"I'm not entirely sure you do, Helena.  But that's okay, you will figure it out."  Leena sighs.  "You will both figure it out _together_."  
  
Helena's smile is weak and she steps toward Leena and reaches a hand to the young woman's cheek to brush away a streak of flour.  
  
"Thank you, Leena."  Helena nods.  Leena rolls her eyes but smirks.   
  
"Go.  _Now_."  
  
Helena pulls Leena into a tight hug and kisses her cheek.    
  
"I wish we had more time together, but time is something that I never seem to have enough of."  Helena whispers and kisses her cheek again before standing straight.    
  
" _Go_."  Leena urges.    
  
"I'm gone."  Helena reaches back for the Tupperware container and pulls it into her arms.  Her free hand is already in her jacket pocket, feeling for car keys.  "Goodbye, Inn Keeper."  
  
"Goodbye again, HG Wells."  
  
And with that, Helena slips out of the kitchen, out of Leena's B&B, and into the dark of an early morning in South Dakota. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't post either of the final two stories until each is entirely written (I don't expect them to be several chapters long). But that could change. Until then, you can follow me on Tumblr ([deathtodickens](http://deathtodickens.tumblr.com/)) and I will try and make up for all of the angst with a bunch of too-sweet-for-human-consumption drawings.


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